What is and What should never be
by Isolith
Summary: It starts out with sex and awkwardness. It starts out as a real fucking mess. What is forbidden is a beckoning force of mystery to human nature. It's human to lie, to be in denial. Sometimes distance is easier than emotional nearness. Sometimes fucking is easier than love. Raydor/Flynn
1. Part 1

Timeline: set around late season 2 =)

**A/N:** I was bored. So I wrote a little smut ;) which turned into an effing long multi-part story. Oh well. =) Gwah.

**Part I**

**-o-**

His hand was under her skirt on her bare inner thigh, caressing. It felt awkward when her eyes landed on his police badge still attached to his belt and pants. But oh god it was intense even if it was awkward. His other hand cradled her head as he plundered her lips, the fingers under her skirt inching higher and higher.

It seemed hurried and impatient. She did not complain; she wanted this just as much. But stumbling into walls and teeth clashing and fingers digging into her flesh with too much force; it was overwhelming her. There was nothing sweet in this approach; it was just hard and direct.

She palmed him through the material of his pants, no intention so go slow either. She managed to unbelt him and pull the material down; she reached beneath his boxers and grasped him. God, he was hard and pulsing in her hand. Thick. Shit; she hadn't had sex in far too long. Fingers roughly pushed her underwear aside and plunged into her without any further consideration; it hurt. But oh god; it was bliss. She tried to open her legs wider but her skirt was in the way; it felt too tight. It was too much.

His lips left her own and went to her throat; nipping and drawing the sharp edges of his teeth across her pulse point. He growled dirty words into her ear; it was awkward in the context of their professional relationship but for Christ's sake she nearly came right there and then. His voice was like a dark viscous thing that crept under her skin, tingled her nerve endings with its intensity and low timbre. She imagined he could talk her to the tipping point of an orgasm if he set his mind to it; she would not mind.

They pushed his boxers down together, her skirt rode higher and higher up and her legs were finally free. Her underwear fell down with the assistance of his hands and she slipped out of them. He caught her leg, under her knee and lifted her, positioned himself and plunged into her before she could exhale.

Fuck; this was too hurried. This already felt too intense, too overpowering and they had barely exchanged more than a few heated kisses. She wound her leg tighter around him, glad her high heeled shoes left her other leg with some balance on the floor. His hands grasped her ass – rough and hard as he started pounding into her. Her high heeled shoe left the floor and she felt he was thrusting her off balance with every stroke.

She breathed into his neck, his collar tingling her lips as she let her head fall solidly against the crook of his neck; she could not look into his eyes now. It would be too intimate; too awkward. She needed to remind herself it was not Lieutenant Flynn fucking her up against a wall; no, this was just a stranger named Andy. It made it somewhat less awkward if she did not think of him as her lieutenant.

He grunted into her shoulder, bit down – hard. She whimpered, half in pain, half in pleasure. Somehow she had imagined if they ever got together it would be sweet lovemaking in a bed, slow and passionate. This had never occurred to her. She thought she preferred it like this. Like this there was no going back, no stopping. It was something that would continue to surge until they were done. Neither of them could stop now; it was inevitable in its impatient rhythm.

There was no space between them; she wouldn't be able to touch herself. There was no way she would be able to come, she thought. The angle was not entirely right; she felt buzzed and high as if drunk. But the edge; it was something very far away. Would he even care? For all of their grunting and panting she could tell he was close; she could feel the tension in his clothed chest against hers, in the strain in his arms holding her steady.

She lifted her head from his shoulder; needed something to tell her what to expect. His lips captured hers before she could decipher the heavy lidded look in his eyes.

He came in the middle of the kiss; his lips uneven against hers. She felt caught in between surges of overwhelming sensations; suddenly dumped into a strange feeling of inadequacy. She wanted more. She needed more. She couldn't tell him though; any words leaving her lips would dump them back into the real world and they would both be covered in shame. They would be Lieutenant and Captain if she spoke.

His cock feel out, limp and both her legs were on solid ground again.

She whimpered out loud before she caught herself.

His dark eyes were too intense; she let her gaze flicker to the stubble on his jaw instead. It was safer.

She was in the middle of thinking, so this is it – when he growled into her ear.

It was just two words and she obeyed without second thought; surprised but she obeyed. Turning around she felt his clothed chest against her spine backing her further up against the wall; and then his legs pressed against hers, opened her up, his arms wound around her and his fingers were suddenly attached to her.

Shit, this was more awkward and more intense than his cock in her. She found herself wriggling at his touch, her ass backing into his hips, seeking more pressure, more contact. She was glad he had told her to turn around; she would not have been able to let him touch her like this if she could see his eyes. This way; it was not really breaking the rules, it was not too intimate; it was more detached and she could pretend he was a stranger.

His mouth found the side of her throat, bit down and then went to her earlobe, his warm breath tingling.

He growled profanities; his fingers sliding in and out, a thumb twirling her clit into an almost painful knot of ecstasy. She would not last long; she thought almost embarrassed at the little moans escaping her mouth.

This might have been less awkward had they been completely naked. But something about still being half in their work clothes made it that more tantalizing. Something about her underwear lying in a heap somewhere on the floor, his shield on the floor as well and the feel of his fingers inside her; it was blissfully wrong.

Unexpectedly she came when he told her to, his mouth pressed hotly against her ear, his voice hard and unrelenting in its command. It coursed through her, powerful in its intensity, on the verge of feeling too excruciating. She felt briefly embarrassed at having complied with such a command. For a brief second she wondered why she obeyed him, without forethought. She had never liked being submissive in bed; never liked letting go of her control.

His cock twitched behind her, and she wondered whether he was aroused by her submitting to his voice, his request for her to come. She could not think about that though; it would overwhelm her at work then – why her vagina would twitch every time his voice turned the slightest bit authoritative; better to ignore it. It would be too awkward otherwise.

She felt heavy, unstable and she was glad he was still pressed against her. Tumbling to the floor in a heap would be most undignified. Her breathing was irregular and his warm breath against her skin was perturbed as well.

It felt even more awkward now, nothing but their shaky inhalations and exhalations filling the little room. His fingers slipped out of her, wet and cold as they slid up the sides of her abdomen; her own arousal and his semen mixing and leaving traces as he trailed his fingers on her skin, under her bunched up skirt. Briefly she considered telling him off for leaving the sticky stuff on her designer skirt; but it was absurd. He would only laugh. She could smell it; and it made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She was suddenly glad she was staring into a white wall and not his eyes.

His was hard again. She could feel it against her buttocks. He couldn't possibly be hard again already. Fuck, she thought as she felt him enter her again, his fingers spreading her and guiding himself inside. She spread her legs further to accommodate him, tilted her pelvic and trust backwards; not sure she was ready again herself. But her body reacted to him, obeyed.

She whimpered even louder now; she felt so overstimulated, over sensitized that the feeling of him, hard and thick, filling her again made her shudder and twitch. This time though, it was a slow slide. Slow trusts; even more torturous and yet still nothing sweet in the approach. If he did sweet she would break down.

He started whispering in her ear again; and she hung unto his voice, afraid she would fall apart any moment now. Weren't they too old for this crap?

His hands tightened around her thighs; steadied her and made her feel attached to something. She let her forehead rest on the wall, it was cool to her skin and made her feel further grounded. She breathed into the wall, her lips almost touching the concrete.

It was a slow burn; it made her breath hitch and she felt tension stuck somewhere in her chest cavity, it hurt. It was overpowering in its slowness. She could feel herself surrendering to it; without question or thought. God, he rocked up against her – pulled her back – trust in delicious slow strokes; making her feel like a tense, taut ball of electricity. He was determined; she could tell. His thrusts measured in their unhurried pace.

She wondered why it still felt impatient, reckless and awkward. She surmised they were both enveloped by desperation. She could almost taste it in the air; it hung between them. Desperate to fuck each other senseless; desperate to forget this was a direct breach in the command chain; desperate to forget what had led to this. Forget that one of their own lay in the hospital, badly injured and on the verge of slipping away. She felt like crying when she thought about it. Could feel her eyes itch just at the thought of the horrible day that had led to this.

She would cry when she got home. When she was alone. She would weep then, she knew. Weep about what a mess this was. Weep about what desperation and grief led to; this was bound to make things between them awkward, strained even. You could not fuck your colleague and think everything would go back to normal afterwards. She knew this; but in this moment she did not care.

The sensation of him was overwhelming. It kept her from crying, kept her from falling apart. She guessed that was why she had ended up here in the first place. She wondered if he felt the same way. It was a shame, she thought – she liked him, genuinely. They had been on the road to somewhere, somewhere sweet and so different from this, she reflected. But this; it would probably ruin everything.

He kissed her neck, his lips calm against her skin. His hands slid up from her thighs, across her hips, up her abdomen, under her bounced-up skirt, higher until they reached under her shirt and the lace of her bra. And still these slow delicious thrusts. It was driving her insane, she realized with a blissful thought. She tilted her pelvic further, her ass backed further into him – god it was making her dizzy.

She suddenly wanted his lips upon her own. She wanted to turn around and face him; but it would be awkward – it would ruin the dizzying feeling that coursed through her. She kept her head still. His hands left her bra-covered breasts, one reached for her hip to hold them together; the other went along her own arm. His hand intertwined with hers, fingers interlocking, steady against the wall. The gesture seemed almost sweet. She told herself it was for better leverage; she could not handle sweetness, better it be practical. But she tightened her hand around his; almost painfully as she felt herself climaxing. It was like something creeping up on her; like small waves crashing into her steadily only to be replaced suddenly and overwhelmingly by a big surf flooding her. His hand tightened around hers and she felt him come as well, a grunt into her hair.

Her own shaky breaths sounded loud in her head. His hand left hers; nothing to tightly hold her together. They stood unmoving for a brief moment, panting, lower bodies still attached. He slid out of her and her inner muscles quivered at the sudden motion; she felt his warmth backing away from her ass.

Then he stepped completely away from her; she could feel the cold air suddenly assaulting her. She shivered. Was this it? Would they dress themselves, avoid the eyes of each other and then depart, go their separate ways?

She turned around, away from the wall. She was solid, she reminded herself. Steel and hard-edged. She met his eyes, maybe for the first time really looking at him. They were dark and obscure.

He heaved his boxers up; she righted her skirt. He pulled his pants up. She slipped her underwear on again. His police badge was once again on his hip; visible and almost like a solid wall between them. Her own was in her purse; in the office. She adjusted her shirt, pushing it under her skirt – smoothed her hair. Her inner thighs felt sticky but she ignored it. The skin on her stomach where he had trailed his fingers felt sticky but she ignored that as well.

If she spoke she would end up crying, she knew. She kept silent, pressed her lips together till her jaw hurt. He looked just as tightlipped, his dark eyes latched onto her with something she could not discern.

They both looked somewhat presentable, she surmised, giving him a detached look over. She moved towards the locked door; ready to get away, faraway from here. Far away from him.

His hand caught her shoulder as she turned the lock.

His mouth descended upon hers; so gentle and so soft it nearly broke her. He caressed her cheek with a thumb as his lips left hers; he looked almost apologetic now in the depths of his eyes. She wondered if he felt overpowered as well. Whether he felt this was on the brink of ruin and he had to salvage it somehow. She leaned up and caught his lips again; just as slow and soft. It was in ruins and she wasn't sure salvage would do any good.

They broke apart.

"_This can never happen again,_" she told him, her voice steady and sounding like an order. It was an order, a command. It was for his ears as much as it was for hers. It could not, under any circumstance, happen again.

"_Yes, ma'am,_" he replied, his eyes narrowed and his mouth tight-lipped again. He opened the door and excited the little supply room.

She breathed a sigh, stood for just a minute and collected herself.

This was a mess, an awkward mess.

**-o-**


	2. Part 2

**Part II**

**-o-**

Andy was floating out to sea; a dark fathomless bottomless abyss beneath him. There was no ground to hold onto, nothing to guide him, nothing to hold him steady. It was like drowning. He tried to keep afloat but the dark deep beckoned him; he had to see below. He had to taste the dark, feel it rush into his lungs as he breathed it, feel it compress him as it surrounded him from every direction.

One second everything was fine, the next his world had gone to hell and he was drowning. He had never imagined he would bring her with him. Had never imagined they would tumble together like this; it was so unlike them.

It was a fucking mess, he thought darkly. This; it was beyond stupidity – beyond apology and salvation, he grudgingly accepted. How was he supposed to apologize to her? They could not avoid each other; they worked together too much to let it be a mere happenstance. They were forced to look upon each other every day, forced to stay within the space of each other; it was a mess.

Andy twiddled his thumbs and tried to pay attention to the girl introducing herself at the present meeting. It was the same story he had heard a thousand times and yet this night he could not be bothered to listen attentively or pretend he was interested. He was too deeply troubled himself; too troubled to actually listen to others stories about hard lives and reasons for drinking their lives into the ground.

But the meeting calmed him down. It brought him a respite from sitting alone in the dark and contemplating drowning his troubles in whiskey. This was a sanctuary even if he did not listen to the others. At least he could contemplate the last horrible days without the temptation of drinking being the foremost pull in his mind. In here he could find some peace, he hoped. He wished he could share what had happened to him with these people but it would be impossible. He had no idea what to tell himself let alone this group of alcoholics. He had yet to fully comprehend what had happened himself. You could not explain something to others if you did not understand it yourself, he reasoned.

He had screwed up. He had fucked his superior. That much he knew; but beyond that he was unsure. He used to drink when hardship and adversity hit his world; and now he resorted to dragging his Captain into a supply closet and fucking her? It confused and dazed him. It was hard to grasp what had made him take the step. It was inconceivable when he thought about it; maybe he really was still asleep and in the claws of an absurd nightmare. Only; his body vividly remembered to such an extent he knew it was so far from unreal. It had happened. He was just having a difficult time accepting it.

Andy had admired her for some time now; but from afar. He appreciated it when she came to work in tailored skirts with slits; sure. He highly appreciated it when she would in the progression of their long working days unbutton the top buttons in her shirts; sure he would look at the revealed cleavage. He treasured it when she would suddenly turn back into FID-mode, all sarcastic and no-nonsense, flinging rules unto unsuspecting people like a raised blade; reminding him she was used to working in hostile environments. Reminding him she was used to getting her way, used to paving that way for herself if others did not budge.

Andy had never understood it before she had transferred; had never really understood how things looked from her side of the world. He cherished every little new insight into her; before he had never imagined how different she was outside work. Above all he found himself adoring her when she smiled. But these were all thoughts inside his own head. To actually go beyond the friendly, platonic friendship they had built over the last two years; it was incomprehensible. And yet it had happened.

He had royally screwed up; but oh sweet hell it had been glorious. It had been like a dark fantasy emerging from his mind and dragging her along to accommodate it, bringing them into a dark mysterious world of only arousal and fire. It was a nightmare wrapped in the guise of fantasy and lust; luring both of them into a dark forest unaware and then trapping them in this dark, wrong forbidden trap. How was he supposed to get out of a dark forest when he was firmly rooted to the ground with all the other trees; there was no force within him to escape.

He applauded with the others; the girl was done. She was smiling. He smiled back with the rest.

He needed this meeting, needed to be someplace that was not home or work. Desperately needed a peaceful place where he could think about his actions and remember he had been sober for eighteen years now. He needed to remind himself of what was of the utmost importance; sobriety. Everything else paled in contrast, everything else was supposed to be inconsequential.

Only he wanted to stay in the dark forest with her; lick her from head to toe, drink her like whiskey – eat her like dark chocolate.

It all came down to grief, he gathered. Why, if Provenza had not landed in the hospital when a suspect had shot him none of it would have happened. The shooting had struck him hard; the Captain as well. They had both been on the verge of breaking down at the hospital when Provenza had been rushed to surgery and a doctor had hurried by and said it was critical before following the gurney into OP.

They had both wandered around aimlessly at central; he had watched her through the blinds in her office. What had made him approach her he had no idea. But he had opened her door.

The rest was something dark and strange, something he found to exist beyond his understanding. How had opening the door into her office resulted in offering her an embrace? How had an awkward embrace transformed to rushing to the nearest room without windows and soundproof walls? How had he gone from merely wanting to console her and himself to suddenly wanting to fuck her hard up against a wall? It was beyond comprehension.

Shit; Andy thought. It was a fucked-up mess.

However he could not keep himself from replaying those memories over and over in his head and therein lay his troubles.

There was something enticing about what they had done; he was not supposed to think that though. It was wrong; they could lose their jobs. It would be worse for her, he recognized. No one would ever forget where she came from. She might be in major crimes now but everyone would always think of her as a FID-creature. Sure, their own little team had accepted her now but everyone else still remembered the wicked witch. It would be ridicule and tarnish on her he gathered if what had happened ever came into the light.

Yet he savored the remembrance of standing behind her, his fingers deeply embedded her, circling her clit and the small sounds she had made into the wall. They had barely kissed, he acquiesced and they had barely had eye contact. It had not been a problem in the middle of fucking each other; they had been too consumed in their desire to think about the consequences. But now; shit now it was awkward and tense. How could it be anything but? It was like standing naked and vulnerable in front of each other, constantly aware of every little skin cell on the others body, alert to every little sound the other person made.

The day after it had happened their division had caught a murder. Provenza was still in the hospital, awake and recovering fortunately. It had felt like drowning, slowly and painfully; standing next to her in electronics while Sanchez interviewed a suspect. It had been very uncomfortable. Buzz had noticed nothing, his eyes had been glued to the screens, every once in a while casting some comment over his shoulder to them.

He had leaned against the cabinet and tried to keep his own gaze on the screens as well. It was almost with too much desperation that he had tried to concentrate on what Sanchez was saying. But he could sense her; sometimes he even thought he could smell her. He had tried to glance at her in a non-conspicuous manner and had caught her own hesitant glance. Her lips were painted red and his eyes caught unto them; and the fantasy of her mouth wrapped around his cock popped into his head.

He had quickly averted his eyes and tightened his hands into fist; tried to compel the image to go away. It stayed however and he had felt too uncomfortable to glance at her again. They had barely exchanged more than monotone words throughout the whole murder investigation – he was still surprised they had managed to catch the murder at all.

They had visited Provenza in the hospital, the whole team together. They were all exuberant; the old bastard was stable and would be back to normal. It had felt almost like the good old days when they had gathered around Provenza's bed in a circle, all of them smiling and enjoying the happiness of one of their own recovering nicely.

However, they had left simultaneously – and taken the elevator. His eyes had been glued to her skirt, the slit in the back affording him glimpses of her legs. It had been awfully crowded in the elevator; too crowded when all his thoughts were centered on her legs and ass. He had been tight-lipped and had barely laughed at Tao's jokes – had barely understood the English words coming out of Sanchez mouth.

He had accidently bumped his shoulder into her as they had excited the elevator; both trying to exit the elevator in a hurry. He could feel her flinching at the mere touch, her eyes suddenly dark and panicky as they connected with his. She had done that awkward thing where she spun around; her eyes glued to him. He watched how her mouth twitched; she wanted to say something. He had taken a step towards her and she had taken a step backwards; wide eyes. He saw his own dark fears reflected in her green eyes but what hit him most was that he saw a dark flicker of arousal. It was plaguing her as well. They were both drowning, far out into a dark bottomless sea – only they could not really hang onto each for support. They were drowning in their own separate space of water. They were lost in the dark forest, together but in different places.

An older man, grey streaks in his dark hair, was now standing up; he had been sober for twenty years but had hit a bar yesterday. The guy looked haggard and worn, Andy thought. The guy started talking and he tried to pay closer attention.

Maybe he really needed to get these horrible days of his chest, he thought. Talk to someone about what had happened that night in the supply closet – and how the days after everything had been an awful mess.

Only; whoever he talked to would be the voice of reason, he reflected darkly. He did not want someone to tell him about his responsibilities as an officer or his duty to respect the chain of command. He did not want anyone to tell him what had happened had been wrong and a mistake. It was alright for him to think it; he knew it had been wrong and a mistake. But for someone else to mention it – he was not ready for that.

Ironically, all he wanted was to repeat it. He could not very well contemplate fucking her again if someone told him it would end with him drowning in a bottle of whiskey. So he sat here and listened to the others stories and tried to gleam some peace from this place – all the while he knew the moment he came home it would end with him in his bed, conjuring up images that would inevitably end with his hand on his cock, around it and bringing him further and further under water.

It was a fucking mess.

**-o-**


	3. Part 3

**Part III**

**-o-**

He was not supposed to knock on her apartment door at 2 am. Another breach of conduct they could add to the ever-growing list. Her hair was tousled from a fitful sleep and her bathrobe was too flimsy to count as decent in his company. She had had trouble sleeping and that was why she had heard the faint knocking; it had become a loud pounding the moment she sneaked into her hallway and looked through the peeping hole.

Sharon considered pretending not to see him and just going back to bed. But he was pounding quite relentlessly and any minute now Rusty would wake up and wonder what all the noise was about. She could not risk it. She could not risk going back and putting on more clothes. She cursed as she flung her door open angrily – and met his likewise angry stare. She was about to reprimand him; her mind going straight to work-mode but he advanced too quickly for her.

His mouth was on hers before she could utter anything; uncompromising and overwhelming. God; she hadn't been kissed like this in forever. Her hands held unto his shoulders. She had meant to push him away but she ended up bringing him closer instead, her hands betraying her.

"_Not here_," she mumbled, trying to be adamant but she could hear the vibration of her sultry come hither in her tone.

"_Bedroom,_" his voice was husky and that one word surged through her body, eliciting wonderful images in her mind. It latched onto her, his lips vibrating as he barely let go of hers to growl. She shivered, feeling his presence devouring her on the spot, shooting straight to her treacherous core. It was hard to think clear or stay resolute when his voice was her making her come undone with just one little word.

"_No, no. This is not happening now. Not here!_"

His hands were in the middle of unbelting her bathrobe - stubbornly ignoring her words. Cool air hit her skin and goose bumps broke out as his hands attached to her naked skin – god, it felt too good. Soft fingers bringing her closer to his body, digging into her flesh with a tantalizing touch.

Why were her hands working on his belt and unbuttoning his jeans? Why was she leaning further and further inside her own doorway – she was supposed to tell him to go home – to fuck off. Only; she wanted him, she surmised darkly. She wanted him, desperately. So much it overrode common sense and her obligations to duty; dominated all her hesitant thoughts. She might as well surrender to this feeling, to him, she thought. Her body had surrendered already; wholeheartedly. There was no going back; not now. She was already too much immersed in the feeling of him, in his lips slanted across hers, making her shiver with anticipation.

She wanted to drown in his lips; that was the problem. Wanted to drown in the hands roaming across her skin and eliciting torrents of desire to surge through her blood; a major problem. She wanted to sink into the sensation of his fingers running up her ribcage. Descend darkly into the sensation of him finding her breasts – oh god; it was too difficult to think, too hard to breathe. She was completely naked underneath the flimsy material. She should have gotten in her pajamas, she surmised.

He felt gleeful, she could tell. His touch was almost arrogant, excited at the feel of naked skin. He cupped her breasts, almost possessively, and flicked fingers across her nipples; last time he had barely touched them and they had been covered in lace. His leg was suddenly in between hers, clothed thigh against her naked center – pressing up against her, backing her further inside.

His mouth felt like a machine of victory; something that lay claim to her. He smiled into her mouth; she could feel it. She felt like smiling back but could only settle her lips across his and initiate another drawn out kiss. It felt like he was claiming every inch of her body – painting it with his lips and hands; with his thigh sliding back and forth between her legs.

She moaned when they broke apart, air rushing into her lungs – his lips was on hers an instant later again; demanding and possessive. She lingered in the feeling; it was intense, almost frighteningly so.

Her hands went under the band of his boxers, a deep urge to touch him, to make him growl into their kiss. He was half-hard – the flesh feeling more gorged the more she held him – the tighter she gripped, the more she stroked. He groaned into her mouth, his hips butting towards her.

Maybe just this once; maybe just for tonight; it had been running through her mind all evening, all night. Obviously he had been thinking the exact same.

Remembrance of the last time had clouded her mind throughout the night; how chaotic and shameful it had been after the whole ordeal but how fucking glorious it had been in that little supply room. She imagined he got hard just thinking about it; she had found release a couple of times, replaying the events in her mind, hand down between her legs. It was awful; a worse mess than she had imagined. Their professional relationship was strained now; awkward.

The fucking in the supply room was only supposed to be about grief and desperation. It was only supposed to be a mutual outlet for venting their frustrations. It was so much more and so much more complicated. She could feel it in the way they interacted now, in the way they behaved towards each other. It was not just a simple fuck. It was but it wasn't.

Of course it was awkward now; they had fucked – had come off thinking about each other. How were you supposed to look your colleague, your subordinate in the eye when it was obvious he was replaying some little fantasy, or when you accidentally touched his arm and all you could think about was his fingers deep in you or his growl as he came. It was impossible.

Now he followed her around at work. Wherever she went he was close by. He reminded her of a lost puppy; only he shifted between that and an angry guard dog who snarled at anyone coming too close to her. It was disorienting. She could not tell him to back off; that would leave room open for discussing what had happened between them. She could do nothing but try to ignore him; which only made it worse.

Sometimes, if she caught his eye she tried not to look too closely. She knew that look; in the depth of his dark brown eyes. Knew it – but oh god, he was not supposed to look at her like that. It was too complicated.

God, she liked him too – genuinely. She could not tell him that though; not after what had happened, not considering their positions at work. It was all so wrong; sinfully so.

It had been a shitty day, she surmised, her hands coming around his hips and bringing them into contact with hers. Two times did not make it a regular thing she tried to reason with herself. This was merely an extension of last time – there was no reason to fight against it. It would make their relationship that much more awkward, she reasoned, if she threw him out now. And, really, it had been a shitty day.

She guided him inside, closing the door and locking it, her lips still on his.

She broke apart from him, "_You have to be quiet,_" she whispered, searching out his eyes. He just gave a little nod, his eyes caught on her lips and his hands around her bare waist. He brought her closer still, held her tighter against him, his leg persistent between hers, searching out her lips again.

They stumbled to her dark bedroom, closed the door silently – she locked it as well; it felt almost sinister.

They shed their clothes. She only had to let her bathrobe slide to the floor; she watched him stripping out of his many layers. It seemed too intimate but her eyes couldn't deter – glued to his form. It seemed almost awkward watching him undressing while she stood naked. Last time it had been easier, being half dressed generated a certain distance, a certain aloofness. This – this was so much more intimate. She was not supposed to know how he looked naked, she thought, as her eyes raked his bare body emerging from his shed clothes.

It did not matter though; she had been on edge all day – all night. Lying in her bed, tossing and turning, going through the day in details, reminiscing about every little thing that had happened. It did not change the facts however, she had made a mistake and a suspect had been able to walk free. It did not help that everyone thought it had been an honest mistake. It did not help she had snapped at everything that had stood in her way. Her silver-haired lieutenant had taken the brunt of her own shortcomings, of her anger, she reflected. It had been easy venting all her frustrations on him. It had culminated in a shouting match. It had ended unresolved, tense – until now, she mused.

His lips were on hers again, naked skin against naked skin as he came up next to her, sliding his body into alignment with hers. He backed her towards the bed. She was suddenly glad it was dark; she could make out his silhouette – could hear his breath loudly in the room – but his eyes were shrouded in darkness. It was perfect. Eye-contact; it would ruin everything – it would put certain things into perspective. He did not need that; neither did she. They both needed to remember what this was; remember boundaries that were not supposed to be breached any further.

The back of her knees met the mattress; she brought him with her, landing softly in among her linen. God, the feel of him on top of her. She had not thought about this – this simple position – but it was just the right wonderful heaviness pressing her down, enveloping her. He was so warm; a furnace enveloping her, swathing her in his body heat. She could feel the quivering of his muscles, his calves, his thighs, and his abdomen – the sweep of his long body along her, on top of her. God, she wanted to drown in this sensation.

It did not feel sweet however, she thought, as he settled her legs around him and slipped effortlessly into her, a long hard stroke that hit home. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back – it was the perfect mixture of that tantalizing tingling she longed for and just that amount of pain that made her shudder, reverberating through her body. She sighed in pleasure.

Her hands slid up his arms, passed his shoulders and held unto his back, digging into the hard muscle – her lips searching out his. Another long, slow trust. She met him, her legs going higher up; she needed more.

They rocked against each other, he trust and she tilted her pelvic – ground into each other amidst trying to delve into his lips with her own. She needed to drown in his lips.

His breath was heavy and her own sounded humid as well. Their shaky breaths sounded too loud but it was probably only loud to her, she reasoned. They were barely making any noise at all. She was just fidgety, afraid of waking Rusty – afraid he would know. She was edging closer and closer to the headrest of her bed. She slipped her hands away from him, up and she gripped the hard wood of the headrest – the leverage much better. His lips went from the corner of her mouth, slid down her chin, down her throat – along her collarbone.

He hoisted her legs higher, over his shoulders and she felt compelled to almost scream. Shit; this was going to hit her – this was going to make her break apart. The angle shifted and became just a little more perfect. His strokes were still long and slow; but they were so measured in their rhythm they felt fast to her.

She could tell he was looking at her; she could just see the outline of something on his face, a smile adorning his lips. She turned her head the other way; he was not supposed to smile at her – even in the dark. He was not supposed to look at her like that at all.

Her body thrummed – it tingled and thrummed with something that felt both wonderful and inadequate. It was wonderful; but it was not enough. She needed that rush; she needed that feeling that would not calmly push her underwater – but that feeling that would roughly and forcefully drag her underwater. She needed to feel control slip between her fingers, to feel her body enveloped in nothing but tormenting, gruesome ecstasy.

Instead it was slow, burning with half intensity. An ember instead of a wild fire.

She closed her mouth, did not let words slip past. Wild fire would make her scream; she was sure. She was supposed to be quiet. She surrendered to the slow burn, surrendered to enjoying the feel of him, slick and wet from her juices, sliding in and out of her.

His mouth captured hers again; heady and warm – she sneaked her hand down her body, to where they were connected. Her body thrummed and almost sang when she flicked her clit. Oh god; it was too soon. But she could feel the tension in his kiss; knew when his hand joined hers.

It came not in a torrent but in a long, long wave that took her far out into the sea. It was not a rushing feeling – but an insistent feeling that bordered on ecstasy. She moaned into his mouth, felt his answering grunt. It was a slow uncoiling of tension – almost intoxicating in its unhurried uncurling.

She felt even drowsier now, felt heaviness settle into her bones. He let go of her, sliding out and her legs came down. He lay fully on her, their legs tangled. He felt even heavier, warm with sweat. She wriggled beneath him and he shifted them; coming to lie behind her, spooning her, his arms around her.

This felt too intimate, she surmised. This felt like sweet cuddling; like snuggling up into the warmth of each other post coital and reveling in content. It was not supposed to make her feel content; or him.

"_You have to be out before Rusty wakes_," she told him, settling into his warmth, secretly enjoying the feel of his naked skin behind her, sturdy and warm. Maybe it was alright to feel just the slightest bit content.

"_Don't worry,"_ he just said, "_I won't be staying long_"

She could not decipher his voice; it sounded both indifferent and warm to her. The words were hard, she mused, but his arms tightened around her and his mouth was slanted across her shoulder, depositing a kiss.

She closed her eyes; it did not matter. In the morning he would be gone and they could pretend this had never happened; just like the other time. They could pretend nothing was wrong between them, pretend this was not so much more complicated than merely fucking.

Only his hand sneaked down her abdomen and was suddenly between her outer lips, gentle pressure on her clit, fingers circling her entrance in a slow progression.

She was too tired but her legs fell a little apart and she whimpered. This – this would definitely bring her underwater; forcefully.

She could scream into her mattress, she relented, her legs opening even further as he slid his fingers inside her. Her mattress would subdue every little moan and whimper that would leave her lips; would catch higher tones as well.

She turned her head into the mattress; her body felt on fire again, painfully.

He kept pressure on her clit, twirling, circling and pressing – it was too much, too painful, too sweet; it made her want to drown in the feeling. Drown in him.

It was a mess; a fucking blissful mess. But a mess nonetheless.

**-o-**


	4. Part 4

**Part IV**

**-o-**

He had drowned and was now half-dead, he reflected. He was being dragged deeper and deeper down, into the dark of the sea and he was swimming along willingly, wanting to reach the bottom. He had given into one little temptation and had only managed to screw his life even further up. There was no bottom to be found only heartache and more darkness. Rationally he knew it was his own fault, logically that they were both to blame. Nonetheless, it was difficult to conclude anything when it left him feeling both delighted and horrified. His life felt torn, stuck in an unbelievable situation.

Fucking twice did not in any way alleviate the mess.

It only made it that more twisted and awkward, he mused darkly. She was even more careful in her behavior towards him now while he countered with his own strange behavior. It was not meant to be like this; both of them drawn unconsciously into a hurricane of fickle mood swings.

When her eyes landed on him they would quickly avert. If she had to look at him when he spoke about a case, they would land on his shoulder or some other neutral place. Her smiles were hesitant and forced.

He was not proud either; of their behavior or his own. He found his own voice hard when it left his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head more than usual. He crossed his arms when she talked and his expression would be a frown. He found work tiresome and people idiotic; he was in a constant erratic mood trying to relate to something but finding it hard to grasp onto anything besides the fact that she was trying to ignore him.

Andy found himself doing the opposite of what he wanted, the opposite of him ignoring her as well.

He resorted to unnerving her and trying to push her off balance. He would quite noticeable let his gaze linger on her form and smirk when she caught him; keeping his gaze on her ass or her legs till she looked away. He would quirk an eyebrow when she said something sarcastic and he would tilt his head to catch her eyes. It made her uncomfortable, he could tell.

She twitched when he looked too long at her, his gaze not on anything appropriate. He did not mind getting caught admiring her cleavage when she crossed her arms nor the derisive sneer he got from her. He was feeling gleeful and vindictive; he wanted her to feel as uncomfortable as he did. It was beyond his conscious control now, anyway. Animate instincts had taken over.

One day he was alone in the break room brewing coffee when she glided into the room. She stopped mid-stride when her eyes landed on him. He watched her take an inhalation of surprise. He arched an eyebrow, daring her to turn around and head out the door again.

She arched an eyebrow back at him and then approached him and took a coffee mug. They waited in the room, the sound of the coffee machine loud. He leaned back against the wall and fastened his eyes on her; damn if he was not going to appreciate that she stood in front of him alone. He could ogle all he wanted, no one would notice but her. Besides she seemed too confident in her ability to behave as if nothing had happened, it was annoying him. He felt too unsettled.

She caught his look and glared hard back at him; her mouth forming a firm line. She crossed her arms, then decided to uncross them again when his eyes averted to her chest. But she kept silent, her eyes furious in their depths. Neither of them really wanted to talk, he surmised; neither comfortable with talking about this, whatever it was.

The machine was still brewing; loudly as the aroma of new coffee wafted from it. She was fidgeting with the sleeve of her blouse, her eyes defiantly fastened on the coffee machine now. Deliberately he walked closer to her, taking only a few steps and he stood in her space, being near enough to smell a faint distinct scent of just her.

He watched almost fascinated as her eyes caught his, wide in half surprise and glistening half with something dark that reminded him of anticipation; they glowed almost darkly. He reached past her and grabbed his own mug. He heard the small puff of air leaving her lungs. He could almost see the tension leaving her body with her exhalation; he quickly took another step forwards and planted himself even more firmly in her space, leaned his head down and whispered in her ear, intentionally letting his lips linger on the skin; "_That's a damn fine skirt you're wearing today, Captain._"

It was cheesy and a low blow; but her mouth half-opened in indignation and her eyes latched onto his with half-hidden lust. However, she did not move. She stood rooted to the spot, no words coming out of her mouth. He knew it would unsettle her. His hand landed on her hip before she could turn around and leave, the material was soft and the beckoning of skin under alluring.

She remained petrified, her body rigid in its motionlessness, eyes wide and lips apart; her tongue darted out. One of his finger crept under the hem of her skirt – he had not meant to do this; he had only wanted to tip her off balance, had only wanted to somehow connect with her. He had never been good with people ignoring him; never been good with pretending nothing was wrong.

A small noise escaped her when he touched the back of her thigh, hitching the skirt a little higher as another finger crept under the hem as well. A little small half-hum that went straight to his cock, tingling and twitching; he wondered if she was conscious of how that little sound was too reminiscent of a lustful moan. If she was conscious of the way her tongue looked when it slipped out and wet her red lips. If she was at all aware of the half hidden look she was directing his way.

He wanted to hoist the skirt all the way up, both hands on her naked skin. He wanted to slip his fingers under her underwear. Her breath hitched when he trailed his fingers higher up the back of her thigh, almost reaching the swell of her buttocks. This was insane, he thought. This was not supposed to happen at work where anyone could walk in on them. She was supposed to ignore him completely; tell him off for touching her like this. Instead words had left her and she looked unsure of what she wanted.

The coffee machine stopped; it was as if being pulled back to the real world. The silence louder than the noise that had been filling the little break room.

"_You better get your hand off me, Lieutenant, - right now!_" she growled and his hand quickly obeyed; her voice felt like electricity stinging. His rank rolling off her lips in a hard tone felt like a slap in the face.

They both took a step backwards; once again avoiding each other. She quickly poured coffee into her mug. She left the room, a backwards glance over her shoulder that was a mix between something frightened and something furious.

He poured coffee into his own mug, darkly contemplating whether he could manage to avoid being alone with her ever again. Wondering how he could get rid of this desire to be near her, this desire to get under her skin. There was still a knotted painful tension inside him; it exploded when she was near and made him do unhinged things. It imploded when she was not near as well, he admitted, and made him just as unstable. He was unsure; how was he supposed to handle this?

Andy had briefly considered talking to Provenza about this mess; but it was out of the question. His buddy would under no circumstances understand his actions; and he did not want to strain the working relationship between Provenza and the Captain; they had finally gotten rid of all those tensions there had been there in the start when she had transferred. No, Provenza would end up slapping him on the back of his head and grumble and grumble ad nauseam. And then he would proceed to chaperone everytime Andy was in the same room as her. Things would become even more awkward, even more of a mess. But they really needed to resolve it somehow; if only he knew how.

The days blended together in a blur; he alternated between trying to ignore her as well and following her every move with his eyes; alternated between pretending nothing had ever happened between them and replaying every little thing that had happened in that supply room and her darkened bedroom. It was a nightmare and yet he felt himself entranced by it.

Another thing Provenza would slap him for if he knew about that night; pounding on her door in the middle of the night and then proceeding to manhandle her into her bedroom. Only, she had done her fair share of manhandling him, he reflected. Shit, he got hard thinking about it; the feel of her naked body against his, the way she had writhed beneath him. The way she had screamed into her mattress, trying to keep quiet and failing.

He had been so angry; full of dark tension. It had assaulted him and had kept him wound up tight and taut all day and all night. It had been a bad case; and she had made a tiny mistake; the suspect sneaked around loopholes and no deal was made. She had been furious, fuming in her office alone. He had made the mistake of seeking her out; it had been a head-on angry ping pong of throwing insulting words back and forth. They could not very well fuck each other in plain view of the entire team; her blinds had been open and everyone had been outside; they had resorted to a tensile exchange of anger and repressed desire instead.

It was blowing off steam; only he would rather do it nakedly he mused afterwards. He had ignored the others and their half-questioning, half-accusing looks. Provenza seemed on the verge of telling him off for upsetting the Captain further when he had slinked from her office slamming her door. He had held a hand up to stall his partner; shook his head and headed out to the elevators. He had needed some air.

He had been trapped in the angry sensation the rest of the day, the rest of the night. There had been no sleep to gain; he had been restless. His mind had churned in an endless circle, dark and furious. And yet, he had felt a compulsive force entrancing him, he needed to see her, touch her – somehow. He had been sitting in the dark contemplating; ruminating about every goddamn stupid thing he had ever done in his life, about every dark little thing he had done to ruin himself. She did not really belong in that list, he reasoned. She was not supposed to belong in that list of screw-ups and let downs. He had driven to her apartment before he could change his mind.

What they were doing he really did not want to scrutinize it too much, and he merely wanted to act. He did not want to ruin it with too much overthinking. No, he wanted to drown in her presence; overdose on her body. It was pretty simple. Why, they had already done it once; they might as well add another little misstep to that.

She had been surprisingly willing when she had opened the door; he barely had to kiss her and he could feel the way her hands drew him closer – her body settling against him. Why her hands had been under his boxers, grasping him when she told him it could not happen.

It had happened, yet another discretion that was not supposed to happen. Two times did not make it an affair though, he reasoned. Only, it was not much of a reason when he felt compelled to only repeat it. When he felt compelled to lie naked against her again.

However it was difficult when she was trying to ignore him. Maybe they should talk, he relented – again a little difficult when she fled the moment he opened his mouth and it seemed not to be related to their case. How was he supposed to talk about anything with her when she snarled and bared her teeth the moment he came within her space, fled in a flurry before he could utter a word – stopped him with furious, frightened eyes that begged him not to open his mouth.

It was problematic when she smiled genuinely at everyone else, problematic when he caught her flirting lightly with others. He shut his jaw and glared instead; more intent on upsetting her than before. It was a cruel thing, he knew – immature even. But really, it was cause and effect. She ignored him and he countered with antagonism.

He had never been good at talking about his feelings anyway; it was easier to just sit in his own little dark pool of water, easier to antagonize her, maybe she would accidentally fall into his pool too that way. Easier to let all their unresolved tension simmer; that way they would not be responsible when the whole mess blew up in their faces.

**-o-**


	5. Part 5

**Part V**

**-o- **

He was livid, she could tell. Brown eyes flashing with indignation and every word that left his mouth were laced with barely contained fury and spite. They hit her hard as they were meant to. He looked almost looming in his appearance, she reflected, standing with his arms crossed, rooted to the spot in her office.

"_Get a grip, Lieutenant_" she snapped at him, her voice snippy and hard. This was exactly the downfall of their stupidity she had imagined when she lay alone and ruminated about it in her bed at night. This was one of the many reasons whatever they had been doing was out of bounds. Fucking, she reproached herself darkly, that was what they had been doing.

Abruptly he stopped his tirade of words, looking almost half shocked at the hard words thrown back in his face. His eyes had a sudden hurt look in them – overshadowed by something else she did not want to decipher. She could not look at them, at him. It pained her too much; her chest felt compressed with something heavy and leaden, something tight that held unto her lungs with force and would not let go. It made her dizzy; so she pushed it away.

"_Get yourself together. You are embarrassing yourself,_" she told him, her tone more calm than she felt. Her voice was hard; it had to be. If she wavered he would pounce, she was sure. This was about self-protection.

His eyes narrowed, his lips thinned into a sneer; "_You are the one embarrassing yourself – and everyone else,_" he countered, his arms uncrossed now and hands flying angrily to his hips as he regarded her.

Luckily her office blinds were down and her door closed. No one was witnessing this horrible mess. Fortunately almost everyone had left.

"_Jealousy does not become you,_" she stated, her voice almost shaking with her own fury. God dammit but he was not supposed to fly off the handle every time she smiled at another male person. He was not entitled, at all. Why were they both behaving so erratic all of a sudden? What happened to emotionless fucking and keeping it separate from work? It was not supposed to affect them like this.

He arched an eyebrow and pointed a finger at her, "_You are not supposed to flirt with a suspect – it's crass. It does not become you._"

She had never really imagined they would be like this. She wanted to get along with him – on some level. But it seemed impossible when you added sex into the mix. She wanted to go back to that time where he would smile at her and she would smile back. That time where their eyes would lock as if they shared a hidden treasure. That time where they solved a case and they would share glances of content. This was horrible and tense; spun them out of control and did not feel content on any level.

"_Mr. Green is hardly a suspect and frankly, Lieutenant; it's none of your concern whom I flirt with,_" she told him defiantly, crossing her arms. She did not belong solely to him; god, men were possessive.

"_You want to fuck him too?_" his tone was rigid.

Her eyes widened and a little gasp escaped. She felt overwhelmed at the words, felt an instantly angry warm fire envelope her, her hands suddenly trembling. Goddamn, what a bastard. If he stayed much longer in her sight she would resort to slapping him; or throwing something heavy at him.

"_Out,_" she replied her voice low and shaking with restraint. She wanted to bash his head in. "_Out!_" she repeated as she pointed at the door.

His mouth opened and he was on the verge of saying something. This was not happening. This was too out of control. There was nothing to be done but trying to keep the mess from downright exploding.

"_Get out now, Lieutenant_," she told him again, feeling on the verge of crying but her voice merely sounded enraged; caught in an erratic tone.

He complied, skulking out and almost slamming her door.

She could breathe again.

This was affecting them too much.

She rolled up a piece of paper and threw it at the closed door. Shit; this was not good. She took a deep breath, trying to keep tears at bay. She was not sure whether her eyes burned with sadness or rage; maybe a bit of both. She took another deep inhalation, let out the air slowly.

She missed the sweet silver-haired lieutenant who had been the first to really welcome her to the division when she had transferred. He had been just as antagonistic when she transferred as he had been when she came down from FID to investigate. But he had been the first to really acknowledge that she was not that bad. He had had her back so to speak whenever Provenza had been a sourpuss. He had been on her side. She missed that guy.

The sound of her door opening again made her look up in alarm; it turned to an angry stare when she saw who it was. He snuffled back in, looking both hesitant and angry. Was he hard of hearing or just plain stupid!

He closed the door behind him with a click and advanced before she could gather herself. She felt to overcome by surprise and anger to think quickly. His mouth landed on hers, gentle and soft. His hands were a bit rough though; controlling as they pushed her around and manhandled her into a wall. His lips were still soft though, soothing and apologetic as she was backed into the concrete wall.

This was not supposed to happen, not now and definitely not here at work – in her office. But oh god, his lips were so soft. Like silk ghosting across her lips, molding themselves to her, applying just enough pressure to tingle.

She drew out his lower lip and bit down on it, his growl of pain prompting a shiver to run through her. His hands came up to her shoulders and held her in place as he broke away from her teeth. His eyes were dark, his lips looking red.

He was about to speak, she could tell. Tell her something she was not ready to hear, something that should not be spoken out aloud between them.

She sneaked her hand down to his pants, palmed him and drew her fingers along the hardening length of him. She sneaked her other hand around his neck and brought him down again to her lips. He relented and kissed her back, his hips bucking into her as his hands tangled in her hair at the back of her nape, fingers tracing the skin just below her hairline.

This was supposed to feel rough and awkward. It did not feel either, she relented. It felt almost sweet, his kiss too soft, too gentle. His hands too calming and considerate. She breathed a sigh of relief, her warm breath hitting his.

She opened her eyes, caught herself drowning in his brown gaze.

They really should talk, she surmised. If they wanted to survive this, undamaged and whole, they really should talk about it.

"_I have only been fucking you,_" well, that was a start wasn't it. She had never felt comfortable with expressing her feelings on something so personal. Expressing her opinions was second nature but when it came to her personal life she was always stumbling around as if in the dark.

He did not seem to mind though for he smiled. She arched an eyebrow, only he would find the words meaningful.

His lips captured hers again, slower and even more soft. Tender, she reflected. His kiss was too tender. Oh god; this was all wrong and turning into something it was not meant to.

He broke away, eyes still lingering on her. His hands seemed to be cradling her now, his body so close it seemed like a strong embrace. It was too close, too intense.

"_I want you – constantly,_" he said, his voice determined.

She just nodded.

"_I want more of you. More than this_"

She shook her head. This was insane.

"_You know that's not possible_," her voice sounded weak. She had meant to sound inflexible. She inwardly cursed herself; she needed to be unwavering.

"_This_," he pointed between them, "_is already impossible._ _What are you afraid of?_"

"_Lieutenant,_" she started but quickly amended it when she caught his angry look, "_Andy, we have to stop this. This, whatever it is, cannot happen again._"

His arched eyebrow confirmed how little stock he put into her words. He was right, she did not feel firm or determined. She felt small and shattered.

"_We had a couple of … _," she faltered.

"_We fucked and that's all?_" he supplied in a hard voice.

"_Yes,_" she breathed, "_it was a mistake_._ It cannot happen again._"

He let go of her, took a step back; he was agitated.

She continued; this was like pulling off a band aid. Better to do it quickly and get it over with. "_We cannot be pulling stunts like this at work for god's sake. We have to conduct ourselves with more integrity. You cannot show up on my doorstep unannounced, in the middle of the night. It's wrong. It's a gross breach of conduct._"

He was livid again; she could tell. His mouth one firm line, his jaw shut tight together and his eyes frowned at her.

"_Bullshit. To hell with the rules!_"

Of course he would willingly look through the rules, would willingly disregard them in favor of continuing whatever they had done twice. Fucking, she amended herself for the umpteenth time. They had fucked twice; a mistake both times. She could not merely throw regulations away. They had to adhere to them; otherwise it would end in bitter tears and ridicule, forced retirement and what? For a few tumbles.

She shook her head.

"_We have kept it secret so far. No one needs to know. None of their damn business_," he elaborated, still incensed.

Did he not understand?

"_I will know!_"

He looked surprised.

"_I am not going to be throwing my career and image out the backdoor for what – a sordid affair!_"

He narrowed his eyes, "_So you think it's sordid?_"

"_No,_" she breathed quickly at his sudden hurt look. "_Not like that." "Shit,_" she cursed, looking away from his gaze. She was not in the habit of having conversations like this.

"_I have never done anything like this before,_" she voiced in confidence to him. She hesitantly looked up again; his eyes were still on her. They suddenly looked warm and comfortable; they were not supposed to look like that, it unnerved her.

"_Me neither,_" he shrugged, "_doesn't change the fact that I want you._"

It seemed so simple when he said it like that. But no; she had to stand firm. Otherwise her whole world would come crumbling down. She was not ready for that.

"_Lieutenant,_" she started and she knew he understood where this was going as he crossed his arms, "_I am going to try my hardest to make our professional relationship work but we cannot sleep together again. This is about my integrity and yours as well. We cannot just throw away the rules because we feel like it. We will land in the middle of an ethics enquiry otherwise. This,_" she indicated the little space between them, "_whatever it is, is not going anywhere. We are going to behave rational from now on_. _Okay?_"

He rolled his eyes, "_Yes, ma'am._" He was still livid – furious with her. She had to be the voice of reason if he could not; one of them had to. Still; she felt cold. Plunged into the icy deep of a winter's lake; why did it feel so problematic and heart wrenching. It was not supposed to grip her heart like this, not supposed to squeeze the life out of her in this slow torturous fashion. She wanted to cry. But she remained calm and determined on the outside; she had had a lot of practice in remaining stoic throughout whatever happened in her life.

He glared at her; but nonetheless left again. He slammed the door again; it sounded more forceful this time. She could deal with him being furious, she reflected. She just needed to stand firm and forget he had ever kissed her let alone touched her places he was not supposed to.

She sighed.

This was a real mess – a disturbing mess.

**-o-**


	6. Part 6

**Part VI**

**-o- **

They were ignoring each other in a passive-aggressive manner – they were putting too much effort and force into ignoring what had happened between them that it just became more and more apparent something was wrong.

It seemed as if the more they disregarded each other the more obvious it was. It seemed too desperate – too futile. But it was the only way. They could not behave as if nothing had happened, they could not merely slide into the friendship they had slowly been building. It was impossible, even if he missed that comfortable amicable thing he had had with her. Once you added sex into it, it lay in ruins - unsalvageable.

Therein lay their problem – the reason they were lost in that dark sea, unable to swim or hang unto anything. They were both being pulled further and further underwater and there was nothing to do to fix it. Still they tried; tried to ignore that something was immensely wrong.

Forcing yourself to be in denial was never a good thing though; it only made it that much more cruel and difficult. Andy had done enough denial in his life; he had thought he was done with it. Only in this case denial was better than the alternative; he had no clue what the alternative was! Requesting a transfer? Convincing her to what – start up a secretive affair? Blabbing about everything to everyone?

He was giving her a wide berth. Ignoring her the best he could. It suited him just fine if it weren't for the fact that the others noticed the sudden cold climate. He could tell they were all wondering what was happening. Glances being exchanged; arched eyebrows probing and wondering. This is what he had feared. But no one voiced their concerns out loud and for that he was thankful.

However he could tell Provenza was merely a heartbeat from pulling him aside and demanding to know what was wrong – demanding to know what the hell was going on. Sanchez had been only seconds away from voicing a complaint about their behavior the day before but Andy had just shrugged and left the room. It was an impossible situation.

They just needed to distance themselves further, he surmised. That would do the trick. It helped that they could manage with only minimally engaging in activities together; why she could interview suspects and witnesses with Sanchez or Provenza and she could send him off on a police errand with someone else. It worked; kind of. It was amazing how little they actually had to interact with each other. Maybe therein lay the problem – maybe never really interacting was not the solution.

He felt tense and cranky; felt compelled to be more caustic than normal. Something the others latched onto immediately; after all they had been working closely together for the last nine years. They were bound to notice when he was behaving in a strange fashion. But he barked at them to back down everytime they approached. It would only ruin things more if they found out.

It did not last long; and he knew eventually one of them would try to slap some sense into him. It did really not surprise him when Provenza cornered him one day.

"_Sit down, you grumpy fool,_" Provenza growled at him, the break room otherwise unoccupied. Andy had been about to quickly flee; he could see the dark look in his partners eyes and it did not bode well.

Andy grumbled but obliged. He knew this was inevitable. He had been a royal pain in the ass; only this time Provenza had not been in on the why.

"_What's wrong?_"

"_Whaddya mean?_" passive-aggressive evasion was another tactic he had mastered to perfection. Unfortunately that old coot of a partner knew him too well. Provenza merely rolled his eyes, crossed his arms and glared harder;

"_Flynn,_" he started in an exasperated voice, "_you are acting like old grouch who's been castrated; now obviously something is wrong_!"

He shrugged.

"_Are you going to meetings?_" the question sounded harsh but he could tell Provenza was only asking out of genuine concern. It was aggravating not being able to blurt out why he was in such a pathetic mood.

"_It has nothing to do with drinking,_" he replied.

"_So there is something?_"

"_I'm dealing with it,_" that was vague enough to be dismissive he thought, only his partner kept staring at him.

"_Well how about dealing with it in some other way; you are annoying the rest of us. And would you for god's sake stop provoking Raydor!_"

Of course Provenza would notice Andy was antagonizing her but he breathed a sigh of relief. His partner had no idea she was the root of his problems. The reason he was behaving like a lunatic. Provenza only thought he was letting his bad temper hit everyone.

"_Hey, I'm doing my best to ignore her and her sensitive disposition_"

Provenza's eyeballs rolled back in his head again, and he grumbled something that sounded remotely like '_kindergarten_'.

Out aloud he half-heartedly agreed, "_I will say she's been a bit more bitchy lately but will you please, for my sake, stop whatever you are trying to do?_"

Andy shrugged, "_Not my fault she's got a stick up her-_"

"_Flynn!_" Sanchez exclaimed in a low growl, his eyes narrowed as he walked into the break room. He had obviously heard the last of their conversation and was not pleased about it. Whereas Andy was sure Provenza would indulge his small tantrums and bad language, Sanchez was too enamored with their new Captain. Not in a romantic way, he mused, but rather Sanchez had become aggressively protective of her. The narrowed angry glare he got from Julio now only reinforced that; why if he said another word about the Captain he would most likely get a slap in the face or a fist.

Andy sighed. This was not working, at all. The team was suspicious now and would be able to tell what was wrong if they continued this passive-aggressive way of ignoring each other. Eventually everyone would figure out what was going on; really it was not that hard to decipher when they acted like they did.

He put his hands in the air, mimed sorry to Julio. Provenza still gave him an apprehensive look; he was not satisfied by their conversation and would likely corner him again and force him to tell what was wrong.

"_I'll get my shit together, okay,_" he assured the both of them. None of them looked assured though but regarded him with half doubtful looks.

"_You better,_" Provenza said, "_or you will end up being fid'ed into the next millennia._"

Julio smiled and nodded in agreement.

If only they knew that their Captain could never file a report against him. If she did it would only involve letting out their secret and she might as well file a report against herself.

He grumbled and went to the coffee machine; he needed to relax. He needed to find some way to let go of all this tension holed up inside of him.

Passive-aggressive ignoring each other was not working. They had to find another way. Some way to resolve it before they both drowned and dragged everyone else down with them – before it destroyed them completely.

There was just the little obstacle of actually talking. Resolving anything could only really occur if they talked. It was a nightmare, he gathered. She reminded him of a startled deer sometimes; and he was sure getting her to talk would be almost next to impossible. If he could get her to talk somewhere, it had to be a place where neither of them was reminded of the chain of command. Work was out of the question.

"_Where have you gone off to now?_" Provenza asked suddenly, bringing him out of his reverie.

He looked back over his shoulder; his partner was still sitting down and giving him a curious look. Sanchez had left again.

"_You want coffee?_" he asked the older man, trying to evade answering that question.

"_Yeah,_" Provenza replied.

He brought two mugs with him and sat down.

"_Will you let me know if you need help, you know dealing with whatever it is?_"

Andy looked up, caught the gaze of the other man; it was obscure but he gleamed only concern from it. He was sorry he had been making everyone uncomfortable; it was not meant to affect anyone else.

"_Yeah,_" he replied and gave his partner a tentative smile.

Before it became too emotional they both latched onto last night's game. Baseball was always a safe topic; especially when he could not share stories about his recent sex escapades.

He still felt full of tension; but he was determined to somehow resolve it. He needed some form of resolution; he was sure she did as well. If only he knew how.

Shit; it was still an ungodly, inconceivable mess.

**-o-**

Thank you for all your wonderful reviews/feedback =)


	7. Part 7

**Part VII**

**-o-**

She had trouble breathing. She had trouble concentrating. Everything seemed to happen outside herself, outside her control. Her body acted without permission, her mouth moved and words popped out before she had thought about what she wanted to say. She was sure that on the outside she seemed normal and impeccable; inside she was chaos however. Everything was in disorder and felt like a horrible wreck.

Sharon felt disconnected.

They were sitting across from each other – trying very hard to look anywhere but at each other. It was nearly impossible; their eyes would connect every now and then. She did not understand the look in the depths of his eyes; only she knew it was better to quickly avert her eyes again.

Her lungs felt heavy and small; two taut leaden organs that were hell-bent on making it hard to breathe without a constant reminder of the tension inside her. Her heart felt flimsy, flittering in a pattern that did not really suit her. Her mind – oh god – her mind was going in an endless circle of replaying events in vivid images to trying to repress it. It was too crowded, she felt almost claustrophobic in the presence of others; would they be able to tell she was thinking about his fingers inside her? Would they be able to interpret that the way her eyes kept returning to his and then quickly away was indicative of something deeper than a mere friendly look. Could they tell she was on the verge of breaking down?

She initiated a conversation with Sanchez beside her; thankful when Provenza and Tao came back with provisions. They were celebrating their latest case; she had invited them out. The bar seemed cozy and full of happy voices; only the lights were so different from the harsh vivid lightning at work. It was dampened, a more warm yellow than a bright white. In this lightning, she surmised, she had trouble pretending to ignore him especially when he was opposite her, so close she could reach across and touch him if she wanted. Of course she could not do that; with the rest of the team happily sitting around the table with them but he was still closer than she felt comfortable with.

It was still awkward between her and her lieutenant; but mostly it was something that hung between them, tensile and forceful. Tempting and so wrong – it encompassed her whole being; slipped under her skin and resided in her without permission. She felt ready to burst, to explode; it was like dark pressure steadily rising within her. She needed to alleviate it; only she knew she could not. Three times would make it even more awkward, she reasoned. Fucking one more time would not help; it would only make it worse.

He seemed just as tense and taut. But somehow they managed to be almost civil towards each other now. As long as they did not hold a too long conversation, it worked. Why, short monotone words worked just fine. Yes, it was dismal weather outside. Yes, Rusty was doing fine. Yes, the suspect was in the interview room. Yes, she would like takeout with the rest of the team.

It seemed more neutral now. Maybe a little bit too forced and politely neutral but it did not matter. As long as it seemed nothing was wrong between them and as long as the team no longer wondered about the falling out, it was fine. She could do politely neutral; if she forced herself.

He was sipping his soda with cranberry, long fingers around the glass. She tried not to look at his hands too much. But her gaze kept coming back to his long fingers, her body tingling. Again she was struck by a feeling of being disconnected.

She gave him a small hesitant smile when they all cheered together. His mouth turned just a slight bit crooked in an answering smile as well. Maybe they would be alright. Eventually. She hoped so.

The rest of the evening was pleasant; she enjoyed the company of her quirky team. She even made them laugh with grueling stories from FID; she had quite a few. It seemed content on the outside; normal. She was thankful they managed to behave; that they were able to function almost like nothing had ever happened between them.

However, he confronted her when she came out of the restroom later on. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed and one ankle over the other. His eyes were obscure in the darkly lit narrow hallway.

She had not expected him to be here. She stopped in her stride, surprised. He was not supposed to corner her like this; he was not supposed to be in her space when there was no one to keep an eye on them. This was too dangerous, she thought, trying to quell her anticipation.

"_Lieutenant!_" she greeted him, her voice sounded shaky and breathless. She felt upset she could not master her own voice; why her voice probably sounded sultry to his ears now. She wanted to sound solid, not unstable.

He tilted his head; he was filling the hallway with his tall figure. She would have to edge past him, edge too closely past him if she wanted to get back to her drink and their table. She stood rooted to her spot, wondering if she could sneak back into the restroom and only come out again when he had left. It was absurd.

"_Captain,_" he acknowledged, his voice sounded strange, low and throaty. His eyes were still in the shadows but his mouth quirked upwards, "_Fancy meeting you here._" The tone was anything but subtle, anything but casual.

She rolled her eyes – was he going to seduce her right here! She found it both preposterous and captivating. Why did he step across every boundary she set up? Could he not see she was in too deep; she needed someone to rescue her not drag her further down.

But her eyes were fastened on him; however much she wanted him to be gone. God, he had taken off his suit jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves. She watched his forearms feeling mesmerized by the sight of him.

"_This is not working,_" he then said and the words threw her off guard; into a shuddering pool of anxiety. His voice sounded determined, resolute. It did not bode well for her; he could talk her into anything now. She was undecided about everything; the tension inside her would guide her. Why, if he stepped into her space and touched her she would not complain. She felt coiled in a too tense feeling; something was residing in her chest cavity ready to climb out between her ribs any moment now. It was like being on the edge of a cliff; she really wanted to jump but was afraid of falling and crashing.

"_What is not working?_" she croaked and watched petrified as he glided away from the wall and came to stand in front of her, so close she could feel his warmth and smell his scent. She imagined he was almost pulsing with warmth, ready to envelope her into his embrace and overthrow any objections she might have.

She tilted her head back to look at him but it only made it easier for him to lean down and kiss her. Soft but forcefully pulling her into his arms, his lips against hers with something that reminded her of blissful agony.

God, she melted on the spot; felt tension leaving her body in a rush – leaving behind roaring desire in its aftermath. It felt like jumping and getting caught in secure arms. She felt like melting into him, their skin molding to fit each other. It felt like being simultaneously devoured and cherished; lazy lips dancing slowly together in one moment and in the next it felt like battle of swallowing each other.

It surged through her whole body almost spine-chilling in its force, its stronghold on her feeling both darkly captivating and dizzying. It gripped her and all her thoughts dangled out of reach, her body arched and came alive within a breath.

Her hand came to rest on his neck, just behind his ear, a thumb on his cheek as she pulled him closer to her. There was still too much space between them, too much clothes. She merely wanted to absorb him, wanted to percolate into his skin and linger in every crevice. She wanted him to strip her of everything, demand she stop with all her second guessing and just let herself drown in the moment, in the sensations. She wanted to relinquish control and just let him wash over her, flood her till she felt nothing but content.

He was right. Ignoring each other and pretending nothing had happened between them; it was not working. God, denying there existed something between was ludicrous. It had obviously left her in a mind numbing state; otherwise she would not fall apart this quickly, this intensely at a mere kiss. They would crash if they kept continuing to deny it, she acknowledged, running a hand down his sides, coming around his hips.

There was something that flickered between them; sparks of electricity that spoke of something beyond her comprehension – beyond her control. It felt passionate but still wrong. It was burning her; searing and excruciating. But it kept the tension away; she felt light.

She nuzzled his lips, spoke softly, almost a whisper; "_You're right. This is not working_"

She half-smiled as she drew his mouth into another kiss, wondering how long it would before they would be panting and moaning. She was close to whimpering; his hands grasping her hips, coming around and grasping her ass, tugging her closer and closer till they settled against each other. She could feel the bulge of his erection against her stomach; it made her quiver.

"_This is too public_," he whispered into her neck, his breath tickling and his lips warm as they latched onto her pulse point. He drew her flesh into his mouth and suckled; she gripped his shoulders. He was right. This was beyond insanity. The rest of the team was a mere twenty feet away, on the other side of the closed door; they would wonder if they both disappeared for too long. Anyone could enter the hallway on their way to the restroom and find them enveloped in each other. This was reckless.

She nodded, breathless as his tongue traced slowly downwards her throat; he wouldn't be able to see her nod so she whispered a gasping "_Yes,_" not sure what it meant; yes it was too public or yes continue licking me?

His hands were inching down her ass, on their way under her dress. This would spiral out of control if they weren't careful. But oh god she wanted his hands exactly on the destined route they were intending to go.

"_Andy?_" she sighed into his hair, his mouth still on her neck, "_Andy – we need to stop._"

His teeth were on her collarbone now, hands starting to bunch up her dress. She wanted to unbuckle him and let him enter her, wanted to feel his fingers inside her before being replaced by his cock. Her body felt trapped in a humid force; she felt restrained and agitated. Ready to combust into pleas and moans any moment now; if she went over she would not be able to stop this before it became too much. They could not have sex here; it was beyond stupidity and recklessness.

Her hands gripped his wrists and stopped them from deteriorating this situation further. He straightened and she caught the dark look of desire in his eyes.

"_Not here,_" she told him still holding unto his wrists, feeling the strain of muscles in his arms. She half expected him to lean forward and kiss her, push her backwards to the closed door to the restroom. If he did she would not protest, she knew. She half wanted him to ignore her and simply guide the both of them into that little toilet. They could lock the door and give in.

He gave a wolfish grin; the one that fluttered her heart and flamed her core into intense arousal – the one that made her almost melt into a puddle of burned flesh. She thought he would turn his wrists free and pull her into the restroom surely, only he surprised her.

"_My place,_" he said as he leaned forward and slanted his lips across hers, a brief kiss.

She nodded.

His grin widened. She couldn't help smiling back at him. Shit, this was absurd. This was beyond something that happened by coincidence; no more two little mistakes. This was on the way to something more, she realized. Nausea gripped her, coiling in her stomach in anticipation. She felt fluttery and half panicky.

She smoothed her dress to the appropriate length again, and smiled when he smoothed her hair into place, his fingers pushing unruly strands back into order. She placed another brief kiss to his lips – stepped towards the door into the bar.

He lingered and she walked out to their table. He joined them a minute later. Everything seemed normal; they joined their squad, joking and chatting with the others. They left separately when the others left. He texted the address, he did not need to she just followed the taillights of his car.

Her senses must have abandoned her, she reflected in her car. Common sense going down a drain; being swept aside by something she was not really ready to examine. It did not matter; she just wanted the sensation of his naked skin against hers. It was senseless to deny themselves; it did not work. It only made their relationship more strained.

They could keep it a secret, she mused.

Maybe it would less of a mess then.

**-o-**


	8. Part 8

**Part VIII**

**-o- **

Her hands were under his shirt the moment the door closed behind him, soft fingers attached to naked skin, clutching him closer – it seemed an almost desperate embrace as if she was trying to make an imprint of herself on his skin. Andy understood however; felt just as dazed and overwhelmed. He wanted his skin permanently against hers; still present in an invisible impression when they parted.

He dropped keys and phone somewhere on the floor, the rattling a vague sound that really was insignificant in this moment. Everything seemed trivial compared to her presence, her body so close and her lips beckoning darkly in his badly lit hallway. He briefly wondered if they had both gone insane; if it was a shared madness that was polluting their minds, infecting their bodies – a burning poison that roused them into this dark lustful incentive to devour each other.

She pushed him back against the wall, her palms against his hips as she maneuvered him back, her mouth on his – insistent in her kiss. He understood her only too well; he was just as impatient and wanted everything to happen at once. He wanted to consume her with equal passion; it was a rapid fire that needed to be doused quickly otherwise he would go crazy.

Going slow was not an option. It felt like a fire inside him; raging and bringing with it torrents of excruciating desire. It tingled and wrecked his nerve endings in a relentless stream. He had to douse the fire somehow; there was no going slow. It was a matter of quickly pouring water on it; drawing her into kissing more intensely, lips molding together in forced symbiosis.

They had been ignoring each other for almost a month now and to finally acknowledge that it was not working and that it was better to just fuck then; it was almost too much. It was settling into him in a nauseating wave; he wanted to spin her around and just do it up against the wall, no foreplay or considerations. Only he wanted her astride him with equal fervor. Or down on her knees, slipping her hands onto his jeans, unbuttoning and slipping her hands under, drawing the clothes down and wrapping her mouth around his cock – it was too much; he wanted it all at once.

He tried to breathe, tried to tell himself there was plenty of time – plenty of opportunity. Only it felt as if the world was ending in this very moment; it felt like they were running out of time. It was a rushing feeling, something tense and anxious in the depths of his mind; it felt like falling off a cliff and they had to hurry before they crashed to the ground, obliterated into small pieces of useless flesh.

Her lips latched onto his with an intense urge, unyielding in their insistence, plying his apart and inserting herself in between. He would have smiled only he was too busy inserting his own lips between hers.

He wanted her in his bed, he surmised. Most of all. Well most of all he would have liked to have had her in the restroom at the bar they had just left but that had been out of the question. It would have been too risqué – too precarious. Maybe another time, another place, his mind supplied in a tempting voice, scenarios already filling up inside his brain, unlikely ideas and strange nude images already forming in the orchestrated network of nerve excitation. It was too euphoric this feeling vesting inside him, raw and aching like a tender bruise on you shin.

He grabbed her wrists and broke apart from their kiss; he started backing her away from the hallway, into the kitchen – towards his bedroom. Her eyes were dark, fastened on him as he guided her through his place. He smiled at her; overwhelmed when she smiled back. They had never really smiled that much when this had happened before. It had been too tense to consider smiling. It had been too forbidden and new; it still was. But something was different; he could smile fully now – grin at her and she would not look the other way. He could smile at her and she would not get that strange look in the depths of her eyes that told him to back off. It felt like a reprieve; poignant and intense.

This between them was still tense, he could still feel the vulnerability of whatever existed between them. It hung like an intricate web of lines; from him to her – from her to him. Attached them together in a thousand small wires. Only the wires were fragile; they had never been forged in the correct way. They broke at the slightest distortion, frail in their framework.

But something had changed; maybe they felt slightly more anchored to each other. Maybe it just felt different because there was nothing to blame for their transgressions; no colleague in the hospital and no shitty day. It felt almost new, tantalizingly so. Before it had been powered by something else; now it was merely the need to touch, the need to elicit fire within.

He was not in doubt though; it was still merely fucking. There was nothing to misconstrue there; she might smile back but her eyes were still covered in a veil. She seemed frail to him; and he wondered if he pushed in the wrong direction would she break? Or flee? Andy still could not believe they had ended up in this situation; it seemed ludicrous.

He had always thought it would start with little meetings reminiscent of dating only they would call them coffee breaks. He had always imagined it would be a very slow progression; he would not have minded. He had thought it would be something that would simmer and simmer; until it blossomed into something sweet. Only they had gone straight to sex instead; it confused him when he thought too much about it.

He pushed his ruminations away; it would only end in a headache.

She giggled – a sound he was sure he had never heard before – when he stooped down and kissed her lips, opening the door into his bedroom. It was dark but it suited him just fine. There was light outside from the window, it gave an eerie cast to things. It bathed her in a light that made her skin ghostly white, her hair a much darker shade of red; almost unholy as she looked at him, eyes full of desire and a small little smirk at the corner of her mouth.

They were on the bed in a manner of a few steps, both entangled and still fully clothed. It did not matter though; his hands were in her hair and her lips on his. Their legs intertwined and he could feel himself twitching in anticipation, feel her hands inching down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt.

He pushed her dress up over her hips, letting go of her head and pulled the material further up her waist. He ran his hands down her sides, cupping her ass and bringing her hips further against his own. He slipped under her underwear, nudging her legs apart – her already wet outer lips moistening his fingers before he slid them inside her. Her body quivered against his, she moaned into his mouth and her hands stilted in their attempt to unbutton his shirt.

Instead they crawled further down and he lifted his hips as she pushed his jeans down first and then his boxers, a hand suddenly around his cock – tight and making him feel faint. Her underwear was making it difficult to move his hand a lot but he managed to plant his thumb on her clit, applying pressure as he plunged two fingers into her simultaneously with the rhythm of her hand around his cock.

He could barely move his legs, his jeans and boxers tightening around his thighs – this was insane. They were wearing too much clothes; but oh god her hand was sweet torture, spinning his mind around in both agony and ecstasy.

He would not mind coming like this; only he wanted so much more. He wanted to come inside her; he wanted the glide of naked skin against naked skin, glistening sweat wrapping them in heady warmth.

He stopped his ministrations, his fingers wet as they trailed down her inner thigh, let go of their kiss and growled into her ear; "_Take your clothes off_"

Her hand fell away from his cock and he sighed at the cold air instead. He quickly disentangled himself from her, scooted out of his jeans and boxers, flung his shirt somewhere in the dark. He watched her slip her underwear down her legs. He crawled between her legs as she started on getting rid of her dress; kissing her inner thigh, trailing wet lips upwards. He could feel the strain in her legs, muscles tensing with anticipation.

She giggled again; and he felt for just the smallest flicker of a second content.

She whimpered when he settled his mouth in-between her legs, tongue dipping out and tasting her. Her hand went straight to his hair, fingers intertwined in his short strands. He kissed her, devoured her – the small sounds escaping her mouth making him harder and harder. He tightened his lips around her small bud, sucking – her pelvic bucked up against him, his hands on her hips barely keeping her from moving too much. She whimpered when he pressed her hips down into the mattress, her hand tightening in his hair almost painfully – he kept his mouth on her, fast as he sucked and flicked his tongue – one hand leaving the curve of her waist and plunged three fingers into her.

She gasped, her legs twitching and her body shivering. He briefly thought she was going to uproot his hair from his scalp, pain almost searing but he ignored it and continued his pressure with his mouth, too encompassed by the feeling of her – too engrossed in the desire to make her come. He longed to feel her contracting around his fingers; wet and tight. It was this burning need of fire within him, overriding the need to feel her around his cock.

Her moans sounded throaty now, intertwining whimpers of ecstasy in between sighs that sounded almost painful. He was not going slowly, he knew – he was just too impatient – next time he would go slow; all he needed now was for her to come as quickly as possible. So, maybe he was a bit rough, his mouth slanted onto her clit forcefully, his fingers trusting in and out at a quick pace.

She came with a high whimper; and he quickly withdrew his fingers when he felt her inner muscles contracting. He hoisted himself up along her body, wrapped her legs around his middle as he entered her in a slow stroke.

Her eyes widened and she whimpered again; he moaned into the underside of her jaw. Shit, she felt tight; still contracting. He gripped around the back of her thighs with his hands and started a rhythm, trusting into her as he slid his lips from her neck to her lips, drowning her moans with his own. Her hands travelled up his back, trembling before they gripped his hair again.

They settled into a rhythm, warmth pulsing between them – her body felt slick under him, her legs tight around his waist. Her hands flittered between his hair and his back – trembling one moment and then rough the next. They drew each other into continuous kisses, barely leaving any air to expand their lungs with. He needed her lips attached to his; they had not really kissed that much. He wanted to amend it. He wanted to devour her lips, wanted to suck them into his soul and revel in the feel of plundering her mouth.

Ecstasy roared through him, filing his ears with a background noise of wild fire mixing with their own pants. It coiled and uncoiled through his skin, spun him into a trance that reverberated through him – he imagined it percolated into her skin as well, slipped under and lingered in her being – connected to him.

Her eyes seemed far away, hard to decipher in the dark but her gaze was on him. Her lips sought his out again; and he gripped her harder – thrust a little more forcefully before descending down and pulling them into another wet kiss.

It seemed like time stood still; the world was ending simultaneously with time stopping. He felt as if he existed outside time, existence only centered on the connection between them – revolved around the need to bring them further and further towards something sweet. There was only naked skin, sweat and bodies connected, rocking against each other and trying to somehow melt into each other. He felt less impatient, Andy mused. Consumed and compelled to linger as long as possible in her presence; intent on being embedded in her for as long as possible.

Only, time caught up eventually.

She began writhing impatiently beneath him, fidgeting, and her heels dug into his ass with a persistence that he pound harder. He obeyed, slamming into her now, his lips uneven against her. They were both panting, lips barely apart. It was a ghost of a kiss; an exchange of perturbed breath instead.

It seemed impatient once again; they needed release now.

He came a mere moment later; a growl deep from his throat into the soft skin of her cheek. She whimpered again, muscles contracting around him again – her mouth closed and her head fell to the side. He turned her head towards him, drew her mouth into a kiss. He wanted to pull her into the moment, wanted to keep her with him. She did not need to look away.

Her eyes were still closed, a small content smile playing on her mouth.

He slipped out of her and turned them around, his back hitting the mattress hard. She splayed across his chest, limbs feeling heavy but warm. She slid down, her cheek landing on his chest, her quick breaths tickling.

He buried his hand in her hair, massaging her scalp almost unconsciously. He still felt tense; but it was something else. He was not sure. But it was something small barely there to grasp. He felt mostly content; a deep bone weary feeling settling into him peacefully.

He managed to quickly get up though, sprinting to the bathroom and cleaning himself. Better to do it now than fall asleep and wake up all sticky. He took a washcloth with him; she lay in the same position he had left her; her eyes still closed.

He nudged her legs apart and cleaned her as well. She hummed but otherwise kept still. He crawled back into the bed, dragging her across him again; her body slid willingly along and up his. She was still warm; but it would quickly become cold and their sweaty bodies would quickly become cool. He pulled a bed sheet over them.

She nuzzled into his side; it made him feel even more encompassed by content.

It was still a mess, he surmised, but now they seemed to be more in control of it. It seemed less of a dark disaster.

"_So,_" she whispered against his skin, her breath tickling and tingling.

"_So?_" he inquired, his voice sounded hoarse.

"_Is this – you know,_" she paused and tried again, "_Are we now…_" she stopped again, she sounded slightly exasperated.

"_We can keep it secret; it's not that hard,_" he supplied, trailing his hand down her spine, soothing. She sounded slightly panicky. He knew she was slightly panicky; probably overthinking everything now.

"_Just like it was not that hard to pretend it never happened?_" she sounded sarcastic now.

He grinned. She was most likely feeling unsure of everything; not something he imagined she enjoyed. He circled his hand softly up and down the bare skin of her back, calming both himself and her, enjoying being able to touch her like this.

"_Denying everything obviously did not work either,_" he explained his voice soft. She reminded him yet again of a deer caught in the headlights of a car. He sometimes wondered what had happened in her life, what had her marriage had been like to make her so easily startled. He wondered how love had treated her; it was something that nagged in the back of his head sometimes – like a vague impression. He could never ask her though. He only knew when to tread lightly. He continued; "_We will be careful; okay. Lay down some rules_"

Andy heard her soft exhalation; he knew that would calm her down. She needed something to hold onto; and quantifying this into something she could understand would be necessary. He felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She was adorable even when she was awkward, he surmised.

Her lips mouthed a brief kiss against his skin.

"_Work is out of bounds,_" she said.

"_Naturally,_" he agreed, "_we need to keep work separate from this; otherwise it will become too complicated._"

She giggled; the third time he had heard this little merry sound from her; it made him smile wide.

"_This is already complicated, Andy_," she told him as she looked up from his chest, her eyes finding his. He nodded but gave her a cheeky smile hoping it would be contagious.

She grinned back.

It was complicated. Only, what did it matter when they could lie like this. It seemed trivial. Life was complicated; this just happened to be a slight more intricate. What did it matter?

**-o-**

Thank you to all you wonderful people for following and your lovely feedback; makes my day =)

/Iso


	9. Part 9

**Part IX**

**-o-**

This felt very absurd, she reflected. She felt caught in between a bubble of giddiness and one of impending darkness. Oh it was near perfect being able to sit close to him, his body invading her space and making her feel almost drowsy with its warmth. But her mind was slightly panicky, ruminating about every little possibility about how this was going to end in something that would crush her.

Really; they were not supposed to sit in a café like lovers intertwined – she was not supposed to give in so easily to every little whim of his. She was supposed to lay down rules and enforce them; not blithely step across them without forethought. But he was dragging her along; and she went willingly – almost rushing with him.

This felt too much like a date; a secretive date arranged in a seedy looking little café far away from any civilization that would recognize them. No one who knew them would stumble into them here, it was almost impossible. But still, she felt fidgety and nervous. What if someone actually saw them? Despite meticulously choosing a place so far out of the perimeter of anyone they knew, despite choosing a place she had a hard time imagining anyone from work visiting let alone herself – she still felt nervous at the prospect of being out in the open with him, openly sitting together. If anyone saw them there would be no mistaken what they were doing really; work colleagues did not sit in small secluded corners of cafés with intertwined hands and exchanging longingly looks. This was not the hallmark of a secret affair, she thought resigned.

Yet here she was.

Sitting peacefully in a too soft sofa that was lumpy and crooked in the middle; it was hard not to sit close to him when gravity seemed to pull her closer and closer. He was not making it any easier, his arm possessively draped around her waist, fingers splayed on her hips and his thigh warm and inviting next to hers.

She sipped her coffee.

If someone saw them it would be a direct route to hell. There would be no mitigating factor involved – there would be no possible way to explain themselves that would not lead to absolute horror. This was very unlike her, she reflected. Never in her life had she imagined she would be throwing away everything for regular sex. Even if it involved more than sex, she mused – otherwise why were they sitting peacefully at a café trying to pretend they were on a date? What was going on in her mind? Why was she behaving like this?

"_Relax,_" he whispered into her ear, his breath tingling and his voice almost enveloped by a calming essence that immediately slipped under her tense skin and settled in, "_No one is going to stumble in on us. This is just you and me, okay_"

She nodded. But her eyes were glued to the empty street outside and the door into the café – glued to the small cluster of people inside actually drinking coffee. She had a hard time not imagining that anyone looking at them would not instantly know; she felt almost paranoid whenever someone looked in their direction. It was ridiculous. Why was it that being undercover in the line of work she could be impeccably comfortable but hiding a little secret for herself filled her with dread to the bone? There was nothing to fear; nothing at all.

Only; this was so wrong. What happened to illicit undertakings in darkened bedrooms? Why did she not protest at this? Why did she agree to this? It was beyond her comprehension. It made her feel unsure of everything; she hated questioning herself. But she was unsure of her sanity at the moment. It was worrisome. But oh god, it felt wonderful merely sitting next to him, his arm around her and drinking coffee. It was troubling how peaceful it felt; after all their antagonistic behavior and all the complications fucking had entailed.

"_You are precious,_" he chuckled when she continued to sit rigidly, her eyes on the door – lost in her own mind.

The words broke her out of her reverie; they seemed almost too affectionate. Her head turned around and his lips latched onto hers, warm and tasting of coffee. They molded into her, drew her thoughts far away from fear of getting caught and instead she plunged into the feeling of them soft against hers – plying her lips apart and caressing.

When had this gone from awkward and rough to sweet and tender? It was a problem. One she had meant to rectify but everytime she thought about voicing her concern his lips would somehow derail her thoughts; or his hands would wander places she really needed them to touch. It was worrisome indeed how she melted into a puddle the moment his skin touched hers. So what, sex could be sweet without being meaningful – she reasoned.

Her upper body turned more fully around and her hand came to rest on his neck. She hummed into the kiss and he growled back.

His hand landed on her knee; tracing a soft pattern.

They broke apart and she caught the mischievous glint in his dark eyes. He was enjoying unsettling her, she could tell. He was enjoying openly kissing her, she thought. It warmed her skin but still she felt conflicted. There was something she was missing; some little essential fact that kept eluding her.

"_You are impossible,_" she told him with a half-smile.

It only made him smile wider and kiss her again.

At this rate, she mused darkly, it would become something she was too unsure of if it was not already encompassed by too much uncertainty. This was bound to defy the odds as well and turn into something she had not expected.

And the worst of it; apparently she did not care. Apparently all she wanted was his lips on hers and everything was alright.

His hand crept even higher up on her thigh, inching along the edge of her skirt, fingers soft on her skin.

She brought his lips closer, her own hands on his shoulders, her coffee forgotten on the table.

She wondered why she agreed to this much public display; something she had a hard time reconciling herself with. But really, the café was dingy and they were sitting so far in the back no one was paying attention.

They broke apart again.

His eyes were intense – staring right into her as if waiting for her to somehow grasp onto something significant. It was a look she was becoming more and more familiar with; and it unnerved her. She did not really want to admit it but he was gazing at her. Only he was not supposed to gaze at her – it was not something that belonged in whatever they were doing. It would only end badly, she reflected.

"_You know,_" he started, his voice conversationally, "_they have a restroom here._"

She looked at him; he seemed too sincere – too innocent.

"_You have a restroom fetish?_" she accused him suddenly, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked.

She smirked back.

"_Join me in a minute,_" she whispered into his ear, her lips catching his earlobe before she stood up and sauntered to the back where a little hallway led to a restroom. It was small. Really, what was she thinking!

Two arms came around her middle, a mouth descending onto her throat. Apparently he did not feel like waiting a minute. She smiled, opening the small door and letting him push her inside the little cubicle, his long body sturdy behind her, his erection hard against her spine.

It was absurd she thought with a smile.

Again it struck her; she was giddy. Unstable and on the verge of giggling at the mere prospect of all this; it was ridiculous. But oh god; his hands were already under her skirt, fingers under her underwear and pressing against her clit. It was absurd indeed; the little room did not afford them the luxury of being able to move that much – she had a hard time imagining how they could make this work.

Only he growled in her ear, his breath putting her into instant desire.

It did not matter; she wanted him in this very moment, wanted to feel him in her no matter what.

She moaned as his fingers twirled her little bud, nerves almost raw when the pad of his fingers glided hard into the bundle. He had pressed her into the wall, bunched her expensive skirt higher up to her midriff and was inching her underwear down with one hand as the other continued to keep pressure on her clit.

Everyone would know what had happened when they exited the restroom at the same time, she thought. It filled her with a wicked gleefulness; she had never been this risqué with her sex life. It was so tantalizing and novel. It overflowed her with a sense of arousal just at the thought; really very unlike her.

"_Take your pants off,_" she commanded into the wall, his fingers still on her – bringing her closer and closer to exhilaration, "_and sit down on the toilet_"

He chuckled behind her, his breath warm – but he obeyed, moving away from her. His fingers left her. She turned around, wriggled out of the underwear around her ankles before she stumbled. He was already on the toilet, his pants bunched around his ankles, his shirt still buttoned up. Her eyes latched onto his cock.

He did not give her any time to admire him though; hands around her hips brought her closer, nudging her.

She positioned herself on top of him, her hands around him as she pushed him in while she sat down. She breathed out a sigh; shit it felt wonderfully filling. His hands came around her back, gripped her ass as she rocked a little.

His eyes were on her face; yet another gaze. This one was easy to decipher though; full of content and lust. She did not really mind that gaze – it was perfectly normal in the context of merely fucking. It was only when his gaze became tender it bothered her.

She tilted her pelvis and rose; he pulled her back down.

They moaned; it was slow. Too slow for a little restroom quickie; she hastened the pace and felt his hands tightening around her, pushing and pulling as she grounded down unto him. It became a steady pace, a rhythm that evoked the sound of skin slamming into skin, groins rocking against each other. There was not anything affectionate about the sound; it had always felt mechanic to her - only the sounds felt erotic now.

His hands left her ass, travelled to her blouse and unbuttoned it, fingers pulling down her bra and latching onto a breast. His lips followed his fingers, on a nipple suddenly, the bud in between his teeth – his mouth sucking more flesh into his warmth. It shivered all the way down to her core, coiling in her spine. It felt glorious.

She whimpered when he bit down again, his mouth tight around her breast, pulling her apart at the seams.

Their rhythm faltered with her gasp; he slid out of her. His wet lips left her breast and came up to her lips instead, caressing as his cock glided along the curve of her mound instead. She wanted to rectify it, slide him back – but his fingers were suddenly thrusting into her instead and she forgot about his cock.

She rocked against his fingers, starting up a rhythm again; only this time it was a little more frantic. A thumb slid up and sought out her clit; she could feel tension inside building up – like steam rising steadily and exponentially – she would soon explode into brightness. It was in her sight her nearing orgasm; a bright light ready to scorch her once she reached the next hillcrest.

Shit.

She came around his fingers, her mouth open and breathing into his shoulder – his collar damp with her moans. She lingered in the crook of his neck, enjoying the scent of him as she tried to control her breathing. Her hand went to his cock, going around it – she arched her back and his lips found her breast again. She slid her hand down his shaft, smiled as she bit into the flesh of her lower lip; god it felt absolutely wonderful.

Only; someone knocked on the door.

Her hand instantly fell away from him and her eyes found his.

"_Just a minute,_" he growled to the person outside when they knocked again.

He looked grumpy, she thought with a smile. She quickly stood and pulled her clothes into order. She giggled when she found him pulling his boxers and pants up in a sullen fashion. Oh, this was priceless.

"_You are precious,_" she whispered to him and caught his answering albeit grumpy smile.

She felt giddy when they opened the door and went through; felt almost on the point of giggling as they left the grim-looking lady outside. She felt promiscuous; and it kind of amused her. He caught her hand as they went back to their coffee table, it was warm and comforting.

It was absurd, but really it was wonderful.

**-o-**


	10. Part 10

**Part X**

**-o-**

It struck him in amidst ecstasy; he could not remember the last time this had happened. It was always a very vivid image in his fantasies – had always been a vibrant imagery that brought him into a tremor of arousal just at the thought. Reality rendered him incoherent.

He had a hard time concentrating on anything when her mouth was wrapped around his cock, warm and tight – sucking and sliding along his length. Up and down in a bopping motion the crown of her red hair looking sinful from his vantage point, the sucking sound of her lips and tongue loud and going straight through his skin and eliciting blissful sensations.

He had a suspicion he was not meant to think coherently; that the reason she was down on her knees her mouth firmly on his cock was with the very implicit motive of rendering him incapable of articulating his thoughts. He was not sure what he had been about to say anyway. Only this was really a big blunder, an enormous breach in their 'no fooling around at work' rule.

This was insane, he thought but it was only a vague impression in his mind. He was otherwise too occupied with the glorious sensations that coursed through him, coiling in his groin, bringing him closer and closer to sweet oblivion.

Fuck, it was sweet agony – fucking intense.

His hands went into her hair, tangled in the red strands. She did not seem to mind, a hum vibrating around him, tingling and sending him even further into the abyss of ecstasy. He would not mind immersing himself in the moment, lingering in it – it was something that transcended even the hesitant thought that any moment now someone could walk into the restroom and hear them.

He had never imagined this would happen at work though; he would have laughed at the notion yesterday. She was meticulous about her behavior; always conscious of the space between them. He knew he invaded it more than she felt comfortable with at work; but really he had no control over it. He felt compelled to somehow reach out to her; he could not stand by idly and pretend he had never fucked her. It was something that lay dormant in him, it came alive within a breath and ensnared him – forced him to reach out. Maybe it was some animate instinct that lured him into declaring her for himself; he could not very well keep her without a few touches here and there.

She should applaud him for his restraint; he had yet to drag her into a room and ravage her on sight; that had not happened since the first time. He had not even kissed her at work. His small touches were miniscule in the grand scheme of everything. Even though she felt slightly uncomfortable her mouth always curved into a secret smile, her eyes dark and inviting when she sneaked a look at him. She secretly enjoyed it even if she felt compelled to enforce some kind of distance between them.

It had become a game; he wanted to unsettle her until she resigned and revealed her smile. That and her skin beckoned him; enticed him. A little game of sneaking around; how much could he get away with. A game of touching her without anyone noticing their odd behavior.

But this; this was so unlike her. This scenario had never seemed to belong anywhere but in his fantasies and the dark. It was torrid; almost sweltering.

It was his own fault he mused. He had been too consumed with anxiety and slight panic; watching the guy in the interview room threatening her and Sanchez, one moment spewing words and the next the suspect had jumped out of his seat, flinging a bottle of water at her and attacking Sanchez.

It was a minor accident but it had filled him with a frantic feeling, not one he was accustomed to. It was a novel thing, he realized – this feeling of dread at the thought of her hurt. She was fine, she had assured the whole team – just a little bump on her forehead and a wet blouse. But really; he had been in panic mode.

So he had cornered her, slipped a hand into hers when no one was around and tried to gleam whether she was fine. It was always easier to read her when they were connected by skin; if there was too much space between them she always seemed indecipherable. Only they were not supposed to be holding hands in the office. He knew that; knew she could not handle something that bordered on too much affection – especially not after an episode that clearly left her a little unstable.

He had only wanted to make sure she was alright. Had only tugged her into the restroom out of concern; she looked pale. Maybe a splash of cool water would do her good.

Absurdly, it ended with them in a cubicle, pressed together and trying to impress themselves into kissing. It ended with her on her knees, tugging him free and placing her mouth around him.

It left him feeling breathless – spinning in a circle of arousal and tingling with an impending sensation of bliss. His cock felt immersed in a hot furnace, his body felt on fire – painful one moment in its excruciating exhilaration and then almost sweet in the next moment.

He had been about to tell her something, he knew that. She must have seen something in his eyes for her lips had been on his before he could utter a word, her hands rough and commandeering him into the cubicle. It made him hard when she shifted mode in an abrupt fashion, suddenly channeling command; there was always a tightening in his groin when she turned that persona on – it created a few problems in their line of work he mused with a dark smile. Fortunately no one noticed; she would feel mortified if he told her. He grinned to himself; mortified and shamefully aroused though she would deny it.

It was beyond insanity; the small cubicle did not in any way subdue sound. If anyone were to enter the restroom they would be assaulted by noises that really did not leave anything to the imagination. He could not keep himself from groaning out loud; who could with a mouth wrapped around their cock? She was not silent either. Shit; it was a mess – but magnificently wonderful.

But if someone entered the restroom there would be hell to pay; it was the reason work was out of bounds – why he never invaded her space entirely. It was why he had up until now not dared kiss her at work; he had a distinct feeling he would not be able to kiss her without it spinning out of control. So why had he slipped his hand into hers? Why had he tugged her into a place that he instinctually knew would only catapult them into some form of sex?

Her mouth left his cock and instead she ran her tongue up the underside of his length, kissing and leaving wet imprints of her lips.

"_This is never happening again_," she whispered, her voice was low and throaty. The words did not really seem to register seriously in his mind though; it was absurd when her lips were once again on him, around his head – her hand going down his length forming a tight grip.

He moaned in response; did she expect him to answer? - Really!

He tugged her head, fingers still in among strands of her hair – and her mouth went down on him again.

It was almost too much – her warm mouth and the tight grip of her hand; up and down in a rhythm that was sure to very soon bring him into a roaring feeling of release.

"_Shit,_" he muttered, the familiar tightening and coiling in his groin, the muscles in his legs straining – it was too intense.

His thumb went along her brow, a slow caress; "_I'm gonna come_," he grumbled, his voice sounded tight – restrained by a tautness. He felt taut, ready to spring into ignition any second now.

She sucked; and he came into her mouth.

Fuck; this was bliss.

**-o-**


	11. Part 11

**Part XI**

**-o-**

It felt like her brain split in two – her mind going off in two very different directions and trying to drag her body along. She felt stretched in two very opposite directions, it felt taut and precarious. She wondered when she would literally split down the middle. She wondered whether it would be blood that would tumble out of the vertical wound down her middle or if it would be a viscous dense black liquid. She felt a little insane; caught in between breathless apprehension and heart aching euphoria.

It was a regular thing now. A regular secret thing. A regular dark secretive thing of fucking. It kept going on repeat in her mind and she had trouble with how to behave. Could she let her lips be free of restrain and let them float into a full smile in plain view? Or would that be too telling? Could she actually maintain eye contact with him now? Or was that out of bounds? What exactly were the rules? He had told her they existed; only he had not bothered telling her what they consisted of. Sure, they could not have sex at work. But what could they do at work? Could they smile at each other? Could they touch even if it was innocent?

It bothered her. She needed to know her boundaries; otherwise everything she did would be uninhibited and careless. Everything would fall out of her grasp and she would float away into the air, like a stray balloon of helium. She wondered how far into the sky she could float before he would notice?

It bothered her that the moment his lips were upon hers she was not bothered; it sounded absurd even to herself. But she was in a deep conflict with herself; and the moment his skin touched hers everything felt dandy fine. It was insane. A definite sign she was beside herself – she wondered if others noticed. Only, no one had said anything. No one had suggested she get her head examined yet. She did not even need a professional, she reflected, another person merely had to pat her head twice and it would gape open and spill all her dark insanities.

It was a real thing now. She had been to his place too many times now to count; that meant it was far beyond what she had ever imagined. They had made out in their cars like hormonal-wrecked teenagers afraid their parents would find them. They had driven to obscure parts of the city, found café's where no one who knew them would ever set a foot and they had drunk coffee and intertwined hands. They had sneaked into restrooms afterwards when their coffee was gone and eye contact had turned to thunder. She let him into her apartment everytime Rusty had a sleepover. They had even briefly kissed in the elevator at work; it had been a minor setback to their own rules but it had been wonderful. The incident in the restroom at work with her mouth around his cock; she had delegated it very far away in an obscure part of her brain. Really it was a breach of everything – better to pretend it had not happened at all.

It had gone so far off tangent, curved in a twisted line that went past logic and reason that she could barely remember what it felt like not to be in this mess with him. It was both glorious and horrible. She had never felt comfortable with keeping secrets that were so encompassed by unpredictability. Secrets turned her upside down, tilted her around in circles until she mentally vomited.

She felt on the verge of vomiting, of breaking; only his hands enveloping hers soothed every little desperate dark thought she had. She was overthinking, she knew. Over analyzing everything, taking things apart and wondering what their function was. She was pulling it apart, both amazed and frightened by all the small tiny pieces – and then he came along, kissed her and reassembled everything before she could protest. She needed to take it apart, to discern what it all meant but he kept interrupting, kept making everything whole again. It was both disparaging and comforting.

He followed her home when they finished work everytime Rusty was having a sleepover at a friend's place. He would stand outside her office, follow her to the elevator – follow her all the way down to the parking garage and to her car. His presence felt oppressive yet reassuring. He would give her a half-calming smile – it would not really calm her thoughts.

She would open the passenger side door for him and watch as he settled in next to her.

No one knew; no one saw him following her. They made sure. It was a dark little secret they shared between them; they kept it between them in a cotton-swathed nest. It was frail they both knew and they made sure to keep it out of reach for others. Somewhere it would not splinter and break.

Eventually, she reckoned, they would stop and it would be like it had never happened. Only she knew that was something that only happened in her imaginations. You could not erase something like this. It would be something that would always be between them; she admitted. Only, she looked sideways at him now, why was he following her home? Why was she letting him? This was bound to only end in tears; worse forced retirement – even worse; it would end in something she could not bear to think about.

She shifted gears and nearly jumped when his hand landed on top of hers. There it was again; all those little sweet gestures that made her want to take it all apart and examine every little tingle.

She tried to control her breathing; did he know she could not handle sweetness? Maybe he would run away when she started crying one part of her thought. Another thought; maybe he would snuggle into her, back in her bed and comfort her in his embrace.

She drove home his hand on her thigh when it wasn't in her own hand. Just this once; she repeated to herself, just this little sweet gesture this one time. Only it had been happening so frequently it was engrained into whatever it was between them, she reflected. He was constantly touching her, small little touches that seemed innocent at first. It did no harm, she had thought the first few times but then it sneaked up on her and suddenly a small caress of a finger turned into a thousand little different touches. It did a lot of harm. It was too sweet and too tender.

This was not supposed to be sweet and tender, she reproached. Fucking, she reflected, was not infected by little innocent touches – was not something that was supposed to be feeling this light and affectionate. This is what happened when there were no rules. This is what happened when she felt untethered and there was nothing solid keeping them apart.

It would never be just fucking, she knew. It would never again be just friendly. It would explode sometime in the future; she knew. They would become awkward in each other's presence – they would slip up and eventually their little dirty secret would come out into daylight. It filled her with fright and dread.

His thumb was tracing patterns on her thigh; why was he doing this she wondered. Why was she always ruining things before they started? Why were things always ruined when she got a hold of them? Her marriage, she laughed derisively in her head, had been a roller coaster of repressed and passive aggressive bumps – embodied by too much strain and resentment; a massive ruin. She did not want her silver-haired lieutenant to slip into that category; she wanted no darkness in her relationship with him.

But, she sighed, they had started this all wrong. They had started out with darkness and now they shared this little dark secret. Why, this was positively the worst way to start anything with anybody. It was not the root of long-lasting passion, she thought darkly; it was not the root of anything long-lasting or good at all.

But it was tantalizingly torrid; heady and filled her with a sizzling scorching feeling of satisfaction. Apparently she had been hiding a kink for dark secret sex from herself – oblivious up until now. Now she was insatiable. Maybe that was why she practically jumped him the moment he smiled at her, standing in her living room. She felt impatient. She might have ruined his shirt, she reckoned. She was sure she heard buttons flying somewhere. It did not matter; his hands were already in the progress of divesting her of her clothes as well.

"_Sharon – hey did you know-,_" Rusty stopped in the middle of his sentence, standing with wide eyes regarding them. He had emerged from his bedroom; now standing in the living room as well, looking very uncomfortable.

Shit.

She jumped away from Andy, quickly righted her clothes and tried to calm herself down. It was impossible, she felt absolutely covered in a torrent of panic. This was not happening. This was not happening now. It felt like something strangling her, asphyxiating her, her throat tight and dry – she felt ready to pass out any moment now.

"_Oh. Hi Lieutenant,_" Rusty said, his voice calm but she could see the way his eyes ricocheted between her and Andy, wary.

"_What happened to the sleepover with Martin?_" she said the first thing that popped into her head. She tried not to look at Andy beside her; he was fidgeting with his shirt, trying to hold it together without the required buttons. She bit her bottom lip. This was a nightmare.

"_He's sick,_" Rusty said and he looked awkwardly between the two of them, "_So are you two dating or just fucking?_"

She heard Andy let out a little whisper of '_shit_' beside her and she felt compelled to agree. This was a too direct question; too uncomfortable. Her eyes narrowed.

"_It's complicated kid_," Andy said and she shot him a narrowed look as well. God yes, it was complicated. It was beyond fucking complicated.

She was freaking out, she surmised almost calmly. Andy was staring at her, Rusty as well. She was sure she looked half-crazed. She felt full on crazy – felt volatile. Any moment now she would combust into fire – break down. This was not supposed to happen. Everything had been wonderful – this would inevitably change it.

"_This is really not something I want to discuss now,_" she said to both of them; she was sure. Her voice was soft and calm; too calm, too low. Her hands trembled and her mind spun. This was awful. Rusty was not meant to find out; not at all.

Andy put his hands in the air, gave her a look she was not sure of. Rusty tilted his head, scratched his neck, "_I guess I could call Jonathan and hear if he's home; maybe I can stay with him?_"

"_God no,_" she breathed a bit too vehemently. Rusty was confused now, she could tell – Andy as well. She was not going to kick Rusty out because she wanted illicit sex with her subordinate, "_You are staying here, at your home. Andy's going home, shortly._"

Rusty nodded but his eyes went to Andy quickly, calculating his response, wary of him. She felt bad for Rusty; of course he would be wary of someone – another male – suddenly being in their home, even if it was Lieutenant Flynn. She could almost see the boy's mind churning with all the horrible scenarios he could conjure up; see as he went into a fright mode not unlike her own.

She tried to calm herself down –tried to smile at her boy reassuringly.

"_Sure,_" Andy replied in a calm voice, he took a hold of her wrist, "_I'm just going to have a talk with Sharon, outside, kid and then I'm leaving_"

She nodded, gave Rusty another comforting smile and went with her lieutenant outside.

"_You are freaking out, "_he said to her, his hand sliding into hers as he regarded her, "_Calm down_, _I think you are freaking the kid out as well_."

"_Shit!_" she sighed in exasperation. This felt like being kicked in the stomach, all air punched right out of her.

"_Hey, it's going to be fine. Rusty won't tell anyone,_" he said, his voice low and gentle.

"_I don't want him to keep my secret. I do not want him to go around with my secret. He does not need that,_" she told him, feeling suddenly angry; mostly at herself.

"_He's a tough kid, Sharon. He loves you, he won't mind._"

"_I do not want to subject him to this. I know he won't mind; but I mind,_" she sighed again.

He leaned close when he had put on his shoes; kissed her lips, caressed the skin at her neck.

"_Hey,_" he whispered, "_there's no reason to freak out. We could have been completely naked, now that would have been a reason to freak out._"

She gave a half laugh despite herself.

She kissed him back. God, this was a mess.

He went but not before depositing another deep kiss though, his hands cradling her. It felt comforting. She watched him leaving, phone to his ear as he told the cab driver where to pick him up. She tried to tell herself there was no need to freak out, no reason to go into panic mode.

She went inside; Rusty was still standing awkwardly in the same spot.

"_Oh honey,_" she said, enveloping him a quick hug, "_I'm sorry. I did not mean for you to find out like this._"

He hugged her back, his arms tight around her.

"_It's alright. I was just surprised_"

"_You know, I love you,_" she told him, guiding him to the couch. He half nodded.

He still sometimes had trouble believing it, she could tell.

She ruffled his hair, knew he secretly liked it even if he mock-scoffed at her.

"_You want some tea?_"

He nodded.

She was in the middle of making tea when he spoke.

"_I won't tell anyone._ _I just want you to be happy – Are you happy?_"

None of her own kids would have been that supportive, she reflected, or mindful of her. They would have immediately hopped on to the whole Captain-Lieutenant problematique.

She smiled back at him, genuinely. Maybe she really did not need to freak out.

**-o-**


	12. Part 12

**Part XII**

**-o- **

"_You are fucking her, aren't you?_"

Provenza accused him as they drove to work together. It was a sneak-attack, well planned, Andy thought. There was no place to flee to; he was trapped in the car with Provenza and whether he spoke or not it would be telling. Shit. This was not happening.

It had been inevitable, though, he acknowledged. Secrets that dark were bound to come into the daylight eventually. First Rusty and now Provenza. Only Rusty was so protective of Sharon that he would help her bury a body; Andy was not sure about Provenza. Sure his buddy would help him bury a body but this was something so different, something that had never had a place in their friendship before. He was unsure – which was really the reason he had not told him a single thing about it, why he had kept it secret from even him.

"_Fucking who?"_ he tried to evade even though he knew Provenza was not fooled.

"_Don't play dumb; it doesn't suit you_"

"_Fine_"

"_So, what the hell are you doing?_"

"_Fucking her, as you so eloquently put it_"

"_You idiot_," Provenza sounded exasperated and half angry, "_I mean what the fuck, shit – do you have any idea at all how stupid that is_?"

"_I know yes, thank you very much,_" Andy growled back, feeling defensive. He wished he had driven alone to work and not agreed to let his partner pick him up. He kept his eyes out the window.

"_Flynn, what are you even doing with her? She's your superior for god's sake!_"

"_I think we've established what I am doing with her,_" he drawled. Sarcasm was always a good cover; it would hide his spiraling into dread panic. It would be something to hang unto; would calm him down.

Provenza cursed, "_What, you couldn't have found someone else to fuck? Would that have been too much trouble?_"

Andy shrugged and gave a grunt. There was really nothing to say to that. He really did not want to talk about it, he realized, with anybody. He had thought about telling someone but now he understood that talking about it was too precarious. It made him feel heavy and half frightened.

"_Christ, this is why you have been behaving like two lunatics all this time – antagonizing everything and everyone one minute and going all soft the next!_"

"_It's complicated,_" he answered, trying to rein in his anger. It was not Provenza's fault. But he did not like this reprimanding and assault out of thin air – did not like his dirty laundry now out in the open. It felt like being in the interview room at work only he was on the wrong side of the table.

"_Have you talked to the Captain about this?_" Andy asked his voice grumpy, feeling dizzy at the prospect. If Sharon knew Provenza knew; she would freak out. He could not even imagine what she would do; but he knew it would be something that would freak him out as well. It would be even more of a mess then.

"_Are you crazy Flynn; I wouldn't be able to look her in the eye again, ever,_" Provenza replied, his voice equally grumpy, "_let alone, how do I tell her I know without being told off Raydor style?_"

Andy rolled his eyes, "_Well, you could always just jump it into the conversation like you just did. Very suave_."

"_Oh shut up, you idiot_._ Why haven't you told me about this? Maybe before you plunged headfirst into sneaking around having sex with her?_"

"_I don't know,_" he sighed, feeling defeated.

Provenza turned his head, giving him a weird glare. Then his eyes widened;

"_You're miserable?"_

He _was_ miserable, now that the old coot mentioned it. It was a bizarre feeling, he reflected, he felt so foreign to himself. Everything was outside his control. It was like jumping from one extreme emotion to the next, barely reveling in one side of the spectrum before leaping to the next. Ecstatic, then panicky – content, then despondent. It was freaking him out; and he had no clue what to do.

"_Why are you even doing this if it makes you miserable?_"

"_I don't know,_" Andy spat out. He could not tell him that this despondency in his mind was enticing somehow, could not tell him that he felt like someone else, split between these overwhelming sensations that left him feeling both drunk and giddy; that would only guarantee him getting carted off to have his head examined.

They both sighed.

They drove in silence for a while.

Then another assault happened. Only this was worse than the first. This time it was even more intense, even more direct. It felt like being smacked in the face with a baseball bat – repeatedly.

"_You're in love,_" Provenza accused him, his voice suddenly triumphant as if he had solved a very hard riddle.

"_Wha-what?_" it felt like electricity surging through him, intense fear and pain intermingling. He wished those words had never been uttered; but they were out in the open now. Someone had uttered them – not him – but just the mere utterance of the words and they hung in front of him as if incased in neon lighting – flashing in a painful fashion, grabbing his whole attention.

He felt sick.

"_It all makes sense now; you are in love with her,_" Provenza explained to him, and his voice sounded so certain.

Why was it that the moment it left someone else's lips it reverberated within, suddenly so obvious that it pained him? Made him feel sick to the point of retching? It made sense to him now as well. It was glaringly obvious; god he was in love. It explained everything – explained the last year of his turbulent existence. It explained why he was walking around in a daze; his emotions splattered all over in exuberance and gloom.

Shit, this was not good. He gripped the sides of the seat beneath him, needing something to tell him that he was still somewhat grounded; that he was still in the moving car and would not be sucked into the dark abyss that had opened up in his mind, forcefully trying to pull him under.

"_I am not in love with her,_" he wanted his voice to be caustic but it only sounded tired; like a drawn out sigh.

"_Flynn; you are miserable, you are screwing Raydor. You are in love_"

It sounded foreign to him. It did not really sound like he felt. It did not feel like a correct summarization of what was between him and her; it sounded too logical. He did not feel the slightest logic in his existence, had not felt it since that night when they had started this whole mess.

Andy grumbled. He had no idea what to say. Every word that would leave his lips would be strange. He could not very well agree and say it out aloud.

"_So, what is the problem_?" Provenza sighed.

"_Problem?_" he repeated, feeling even more fragile now. Everything was a problem – he had no clue were to start!

"_If everything was A-Okay you wouldn't be walking around with that god awful look on your face. Why do you think I found out in the first place?_"

He swallowed; he had never imagined people would be able to read him like an open book. Would be able to tell the whole essence of his being when he had not even acknowledged it himself.

"_Nothing's wrong,_" the words tumbled from his mouth, rigid. If he said it out aloud maybe he could believe it himself.

Provenza sighed again.

"_You look like a lost puppy_,_ Andy_"

He tried to glare, tried to heave himself up from this puddle he was lying in. Only he felt like every last bit of strength had left him.

"_It's complicated,_" Andy exhaled. This day was a nightmare, he thought. It was only bound to get worse; nightmares always did, even the real ones.

"_So, it's unrequited?_" Provenza sounded almost angry again.

Unrequited; that word felt like ice – frozen white snow in his veins, relentless and overpowering. He had no fucking idea. That was the problem.

How was he supposed to know if she was in love with him when he had not even known he was in love with her? She most likely had no idea herself. Now, looking back it was obvious that he had been in love with her. But nothing about her was obvious. He had no fucking clue.

"_I don't know,_" he sighed.

Provenza shook his head.

"_What about asking her? Put you out of your misery?_"

"_No, no. That can't happen_," he sounded panicky now. He was sure of how he felt. And he was sure no matter what she felt that her reaction would be panic; she would startle like a deer and flee if he told her.

"_You cannot tell her, about any of this. Not you knowing or about-_", he paused, "_You cannot tell her anything, okay?_"

Provenza nodded but he looked undecided. He looked like someone who did not understand.

Andy did not understand himself either. He thought maybe it was something no one would ever understand. It seemed beyond comprehension.

The rest of the drive to work was in silence.

He felt anxious. It was horrible. He had never wanted to know this, to know he loved her. It only made it that much more complicated and less content. He would be conscious of everything now, painfully sentient to everything about her, everything between them.

Surely, this would end in ruins now.

**-o-**


	13. Part 13

**Part XIII**

**-o-**

Something was wrong; very wrong.

He was acting weird; hesitant one minute and intense the next – wary and guarded one moment and almost smothering the next. It was wrecking with her, reducing her to a jumble of very distraught thoughts.

She panicked. It was only an inner panic; outside she behaved normally. But inside; inside it was a furnace of terror that made her want to hang onto something, dig her fingers into his arms and never let go. She felt deranged; felt she was only moments away from doing something that was bound to make everything even worse.

She imagined the worst; which really only consisted of different ways he was going to tell her it was not working. He wanted out. He wanted to transfer. He wanted to stop. It was horrible. She could not ask him what was wrong; that would only make it that more possible for him to tell her exactly what was wrong. She could not handle it if he told her he wanted to quit; she had no idea how she would react.

She could not handle it if she started crying.

Naturally, she attached herself to him; glided into contact with him whenever it was possible. She touched him at work, small touches that were really innocent and did not seem conspicuous to outsiders. Only she had not initiated small touches before; he had been the one to constantly invade her space. She was invading his now; forcefully and sneakily. She patted his arm, his shoulder whenever she could get away with it – stood too close to him; whenever she wanted his attention it was with skin contact and not his title.

It only made him act even weirder.

She caressed the stubble on his jaw when it was the just the two of them in the break room; and he would initially smile but then his eyes widened and she saw something in the depths of his brown eyes that made her unsure.

She initiated long drawn out kisses in the deserted staircase now, not caring about their little rules about not instigating things at work. There was something different about those kisses as well; she could not quite put her finger on it. It was driving her insane. It seemed both more intense and not. He seemed wary of himself, cautious almost. She wondered and wondered; what was it?

If he really wanted out, she reasoned, he would tell her. He was really not unaccustomed to expressing his opinion or acting on his feelings. It had to be something else; only it eluded her.

Maybe he was not behaving any differently. Maybe she was imagining it and it only felt weird because he was reacting to her own weird behavior.

"_Captain?_"

"_Yes?_" she answered automatically, still caught in her own ruminations. She was in electronics with Buzz and Tao, watching Flynn and Sanchez interviewing a suspect.

"_Something's wrong,_" Tao said; and for a dreadful moment she felt doused in ice-cold water. Did Tao know? Did he think Andy was behaving weird as well? She had to take a few breaths before she was reminded that Tao only meant in regards to the suspect and the interview. She was being silly; her mind jumping to conclusions that were beyond reality. Tao could not read her mind.

Tao explained his thoughts; he was right. There was something blatantly wrong with the picture the suspect was presenting. Someone calculating and meticulous would not really act so obtuse, would not be blabbering about this and that as the suspect was. No, the real murderer would know the police had nothing and would behave in a very different manner.

But they had a witness.

They had a witness who had seen everything, she reflected. Some serial killers liked to sneak back to the scene of the crime; it was too enticing for them not to somehow integrate themselves into the whole police progress.

"_Let's ask Mr. Nolan a few more questions, shall we,_" she said to Tao who accompanied her. Maybe their witness had seen someone else lurking – Mr. Nolan was still in the first interview room.

Only, the world outside electronics was a mess. Blood splattered on the wall and the officer who had been assigned to Mr. Nolan lying in a pool of his own blood. Tao quickly knelt, applying pressure to the wound in the officer's chest – she was not sure it would help. He looked half-dead already.

Her hand went to her hip and she drew her gun.

"_You stay here, __Lieutenant,_" she told Tao as she inched along the hallway.

Maybe she should have gone back into electronics and told Buzz, told Flynn and Sanchez over the microphone; only Rusty was in her office. It filled her with dread; he was in her office playing chess on her computer. She had to get to him first, make sure he was okay; then she could concentrate on everything else and protocol.

She half-ran, her heels clicking loudly, her arms in front of her, gun steady. She rounded the corner, the view into the squad room undisturbed. There was a soft light from her office and she could see the silhouette of her boy sitting quietly at her desk, tapping away on the computer.

It seemed quiet; eerily so when she thought about the officer lying half dead on the floor in the other end of the hallway. She thought she heard Tao speaking quietly, reassuringly somewhere in the background.

She felt instantly at peace seeing Rusty unharmed, it was like being overflowed in a soothing trickle of water, being able to breathe again. She stepped further into the squad room, determined to reach him and make sure nothing would happen to him. She had not taken more than a few steps when he looked up, a sudden smile to his expression.

Only it quickly changed and she wondered why he was looking at her as if she had transformed into a thing with too many arms.

"_Hello Captain,_" a voice slithered across her skin the moment the cold end of a gun dug into the skin of her neck.

Rusty was looking at her with horror written quite plainly across his face and it all made sense now.

She swallowed, her fingers trembling on her own gun; she felt the resistance of the metal on her throat, was conscious of the pain it elicited as it dug more and more forcefully into her flesh, insistent.

"_Now, no sudden moves or I'm going to shoot you in front of the boy. And it won't be pretty, darling, oh no._"

A hand snuck around her waist; it made her shiver. It felt like a foreign dark thing invading her space, something repulsive and tainted that was not supposed to touch her that intimately. Fingers, big and hard, dug into her hip; a determined grip – keeping the body of the voice pressed into her back.

She stood completely still.

"_Put your gun down, sweetheart_," she obeyed, letting it down on the desk to her right, "_Yes, nice and easy. It's just you and me now,_" the voice continued.

She wondered how he could have snuck up on her; there had been nothing between her and Tao in the hallway. She wondered why Tao had not noticed; maybe Tao was lying dead next to the officer, sharing their pooling blood. She felt light-headed.

"_Mmm, how much blood do you think you contain, darling?_"

She shuddered at the voice; it sounded sincere – curious. As if discussing the delicious new bakery that had just opened up at the corner of her street. It was a rhetorical question, she gathered, not one meant for her to answer. She did not feel particular inclined to answer it anyhow.

He was pushing her further into the room, closer to the exit and the hallway where an elevator would take them away. Rusty remained still, his complexion pale. She wondered why he did not move. She wanted to scream at him to run away; only her mouth was not working and the gun pressed into her throat told her that just maybe it would hurt if she made too much noise.

"_From the moment I saw you I wondered what you would look like; soaked in your own blood. Your hair_," the voice stopped, inhaled into her hair. She thought she would retch at the breath tickling her neck, thought she would pass out from the feeling of this dark presence behind her, smelling her hair and digging his hand into her hip. She would not mind passing out; disappearing completely from the sickening knot in her stomach, the tight pressure in her chest.

He continued, his voice like tainted silk – too sugary and filled with dark intent, "_it's just the right color. It will be glorious._"

She had a sudden image of herself, her hair smeared with her own blood, lifeless on the floor. The dark voice would be looming over her dead body, sniffing her hair.

Her throat constricted.

This was not supposed to happen, she panicked. She kept her eyes on her boy; his whole being standing completely still, his eyes scared. She wanted to comfort him; somehow relay to him it would be okay. But she was unsure herself; had no control over what must be terror in her own eyes.

She heard hurried footsteps behind them; saw the half-relieved look Rusty directed behind her shoulder suddenly.

The bastard turned her around, the gun even more insistent against her throat, her body shielding him from her team.

Sanchez and Flynn had their weapons drawn, standing rooted to the spot, hard expressions as they surveyed the situation. She could not think about it as a hostage situation; she would break down. That statistic was dismal. She did not want to be a statistic, a number.

Tao was still kneeling on the floor further back, a phone in between his ear and shoulder, hands still attached to the chest of the officer on the floor. His gaze was directed their way; dark blood trickling from a wound on his forehead. She wondered if he was okay? She wondered what Buzz was doing? She wondered how Mr. Nolan had been able to overpower the officer and take his gun?

Flynn looked livid – Andy looked frightened. It was almost mesmerizing to look at him and watch as those two personas melted into one being. His eyes seemed to be pleading but his mouth was set in an angry line.

Sanchez looked calmer; a hard determined glint in his eyes. It made her feel just slightly more comforted.

"_Sir; drop the gun. This building is crawling with police. You are not going anywhere_," even Sanchez's voice sounded calm and in control.

The gun shifted angle, coming to rest just under her jaw – pointed right into the underside of her brain; would it be less blood then? – a gooey rain of brain matter instead?

That presence behind her, it was pressed into her; an arm flung around her midriff, fingers digging into the flesh at her waist almost painfully. It felt like a very strong hold, it felt very definite. It felt sickening being able to detect the pressure of another body against her back, against her thighs – her ass and spine. She tried to distance herself from the feeling; it felt too sickening.

"_I know. I might as well take her with me then. I can't very well -_"

Two shots rang out and something grazed past her cheek, burning and stinging. Her nostrils were filled with burned powder and something that made her want to gag. The body holding her jerked and sagged to the floor as if the strength was pulled from it instantly. She let herself go with it, down on the floor, loose arms not really holding her anymore but she went with it anyway. She felt as if someone had pulled a plug; her existence slowly draining out of her body. She felt light and dizzy.

Somewhere she heard the sound of something hitting the floor. It sounded very far away. She was only conscious of the loud sound of her heart beating, the feeling of something that had been warm plastered on her face; sticky and cold now. Aware that something was trickling down her cheek, into the corner of her lips. It tasted metallic. Conscious of the fact that something was pulling her skin apart in a searing gnawing, her upper chest and shoulder throbbing.

Everything else seemed far away and blurred. Someone was yelling. Someone was pulling her up from the floor, pulling her into strong arms. She shuddered.

Everything turned dark.

**-o-**


	14. Part 14

**Part XIV**

**-o-**

His world was enveloped in a dark nightmare; something gruesome that enfolded before his eyes and outside his control. He had never imagined he would feel this helpless.

It felt like someone ripping his heart right out of his chest; someone simply plunging a fist into his chest cavity, breaking through skin and muscles, tendons and ribcage and easily pulling the beating organ out, arteries and veins still attached until the pull became too strong. Until everything snapped off and he was left only with severed blood vessels that seeped and seeped more of his life blood.

It felt like his lungs followed his heart; being ripped out as well – leaving him no organ to breathe with. Leaving him with this very obscure sensation of terror that his body was not working properly, fright that something was wrong with him – he had to somehow reclaim his ability to breathe. Only, he had no clue how.

His eyes were focused on the two pinpoints of glowing eyes behind her; the crooked white teeth that sneered in a smile over her shoulder, behind her red hair. It seemed like a dark creature from below that stood behind her, gripping her with long claw-like hands and pressing a gun into the skin under her jaw. It did not seem like the almost sweet awkward middle-aged guy they had interviewed earlier who now stood and threatened to shoot their captain. Threatened to shoot her with a smile.

It seemed like a vile creature, not something human. He was not sure whether it was this creature or her who had taken out his organs without permission; maybe it was the situation, he thought. The situation left him feeling very vulnerable.

He heard Sanchez speaking beside him; potent power in his voice. He could not form words himself, his eyes fastened on that dark creature and the startled look in the depths of her eyes. She was looking directly at him as if expecting him to rescue her; pleading. He noticed Rusty in the background, behind the glass of her office, frozen and terrified.

The creature spoke, the dark eyes twinkling behind her hair. He did not hear the words only a low rumbling like thunder – something ominous and threatening. He only saw the image of her blood splattered and splayed, brain matter marring the otherwise pristine floor. He only saw her death in the depths of the creature's smiling eyes, saw it in the possessive grip the creature had around her, the metal of the gun ill-omened. He had to do something; before he succumbed to not being able to breathe, before he succumbed to the feeling of not being able to feel the beating rhythm of his heart. He had to make sure the creature did not bathe his existence in her blood.

He pulled the trigger twice, aiming at that little space over her shoulder where the creature peaked out from.

He looked on in horror as blood splattered on her face; a very vivid red color in his eyes. He stood rooted to the spot, his gun still steady and his finger still ready to pull the trigger again. He watched feeling outside himself as she sagged to the floor with the creature, crumbling like a rag doll. He felt he was in another reality – wished he would wake any moment now from this awful nightmare.

It felt like something tearing him apart, ripping him into shreds and flinging every last little existing particle of him away. He had not meant to shoot; it had just happened. Darkness encased him and his eyes were glued to the form of her on the floor. It was horrible. Was she hit? Had he accidentally hit her as well? Why was she not moving, why was she not edging away from the unmoving body of the creature?

She was lying in a tumble on the floor with that creature; it was impossible to gather where all the seeping blood was coming from. He felt just as frozen as Rusty had been in her office. Only the boy was now running though her door and kneeling by her, helping Sanchez dragging her up and away from the creature lying on the floor.

People rushed to the room all of a sudden; he was still standing motionless. Everything seemed to happen too fast for him to follow. Someone was trying to pry the gun from his hand. His fingers felt cold and like steel. He was not sure he could work his fingers enough to let go of the gun.

"_Flynn,_" a low voice said to him, "_You can let go now._" Provenza, his mind supplied. Provenza was trying to pry the gun from his hands. He let go, his arms falling limb to his sides.

Someone was patting his shoulder.

Sanchez was holding onto the captain; was she alive? Why was she not opening her eyes? Why did it look like she was not breathing at all? He felt nauseous.

Someone was kneeling on the floor next to the creature, looking up and catching his dazed gaze; it looked like Morales, only the words sounded like no one he knew. _Dead; chest and neck. _Someone else knelt beside the dead man, doing CPR nonetheless.

If he had shot the creature in the neck and chest why was she not awake? Maybe he shot her and it went through, into the chest of the creature. He felt dizzy.

Someone pushed him down, his legs obeyed and he ended up on a chair. The world spun in front of his eyes.

"_Morales, she just passed out. There's blood, I'm not sure if she's shot_"

Sanchez's voice; he felt his eyes follow Morales as he went to Sanchez and Rusty. Someone was keeping him from jumping up, a strong hand on his shoulder, keeping him on the chair.

She was on the floor again, people kneeling next to her. Her face was smeared with dark blood, the floor as well. It was a ghastly color.

Rusty looked up from the floor, his eyes angry, "_You shot her,_" the boy sneered. The accusation hit him hard, made it even more impossible to exist, to breathe – impossible to stay in one piece and not crumble into distorted fragments.

"_Flynn, breathe_," the hand on his shoulder said but he did not really hear it, the 'you shot her' ringing in his ears, reverberating through his body in a jabbing torrent.

Something was stuck in his throat, something hard and hurtful; something that made him afraid to inhale air.

"_Flynn, breathe for god's sake_," the voice sounded a little frustrated now.

"_I'm going to be sick,_" he mumbled to the hand on his shoulder.

The hand – Provenza's hand his mind tried telling him again – placed a trashcan in front of him and he retched into it; the vile thing inside him coming up through his throat, passing his mouth in a hurtful outpour.

The smell filled his nostrils, acrid and raw. It made him gag again.

"_Shit,_" the hand now on his back said then lowered, almost gentle, "_You okay Andy?_"

"_I shot her,_" he answered into the pungent smell of the trashcan. His voice sounded hollow. He felt empty and numb.

"_Hey, Morales got it under control; the ambulance is on the way. She will be fine,_" the hand said. The words were supposed to be comforting only he did not really understand them. She was not fine; that much he could comprehend.

"_I shot her,_" he repeated.

"_Flynn, keep it together,_" the voice was harsh now, almost pulling his head out of the trashcan. "_People will notice, okay, if you continue this. Get a grip before you spill your heart on the floor. She _will_ be fine._"

He half nodded.

Just because he loved her did not mean he was entitled to crumbling into a puddle of anxiety on the floor. Just because he had accidentally shot her did not mean he had to fall apart at the seams; at least not to the outside world. He had to pretend he did not love her, he tried to remind himself. Pretend he had merely accidentally shot his captain; which did not warrant freaking out. It did not warrant him falling apart and retching. He wanted to cry; this felt too dark and overwhelming.

He pushed the trashcan away and looked up. The medics had arrived; the creature was indeed dead; but they still tried to revive him. The officer in the back hallway still alive, on a gurney, being directed away.

She had an oxygen mask on, her face still smeared with blood. There was now gauze on her shoulder, on her chest. Everyone was hurrying around, meticulous and mindful of the squad room now being a crime scene. No one was breaking down or heaving up their guts though.

Provenza patted his shoulder, and came to stand in front of him.

He stood up; he felt surreal.

Was he even allowed to follow her to the hospital? Was he allowed to accompany her in the ambulance; or was that only Rusty who now followed the medics and the gurney with her on it?

He took a step in her direction; only Provenza held him back, a hand once again on his shoulder.

"_Take a deep breath," _the voice was low, only for his ears. It was cruel but he knew deep down Provenza was only protecting him, "_We have a crime scene to handle. FID will be here shortly._"

He nodded; but his eyes were fastened on her still form on that gurney till it left his sight.

He tried to breathe; only it still seemed impossible. He merely wanted to disappear, somehow.

"_Excuse me,_" he said to Provenza and went in the other direction, heading for the restroom.

He heard Provenza sigh behind him.

This was a nightmare; his very own personal darkness.

He wanted to drown; only he had no idea whether he wanted to drown in water or in alcohol.

**-o-**


	15. Part 15

A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews. Much appreciated. I'm not sure another chapter will help anyone with their tense anxieties though; you know sometimes things just go in the wrong direction. But enjoy; =)

**Part XV**

**-o-**

She was not sure what had happened. It felt surreal; her body ached and her mind felt like a minefield of emotions. Every thought evoked explosions and every little movement caught her flinching in pain. It transcended her comprehension however, was somehow beyond her understanding.

The doctors told her a bullet had grazed her cheek – Flynn's bullet flying past her cheek and lodging into Mr. Nolan's neck. It was superficial even if it looked ghastly they told her. Her eyes were locked on her face in the mirror tracing the angry torn up flesh on her cheek, stitched together with only four sutures. It stood out in contrast to her white skin, irritated and colorful.

How could anyone tell her it was superficial when she felt her whole existence was so deep and heavy that every breath felt profound? It did not feel particularly superficial to her.

She pushed down the top of her sweater. The side of her throat had been grazed as well, a bandage covering half her neck. Another superficial wound; the second bullet had gone straight through only skin – gone straight through and had lodged in the chest of Mr. Nolan, courtesy again of Flynn. It even seemed less angry than the one on her cheek; clean through, neat sutures hidden by the dressing. They told her it had not even bled that much. Again that word; _superficial –_ small blood vessels rupturing but nothing that had been dangerous. It was not the one that had made her crumble to the floor and pass out; it was not the one causing her physical pain. The one on her cheek stung, the one on her neck was almost numb.

If only that had been it. It would have been manageable then.

But the fucking serial killer – Mr. Nolan her mind supplied hastily – had shot her. She did not want to think of him as the serial killer who had mutilated a number of women and bathed in their blood. He had been in the middle of pulling his own trigger when Flynn's shots had hit them; the gun against the underside of her jaw had been thrown of its course – a most fortunate event they told her – and the bullet had instead pierced through her upper chest and left shoulder.

The reason there had been a massive blood loss the doctors told her – the reason she had passed out and had trouble remembering anything. She was lucky they told her; nothing major had been severed. Only a lot of blood gushing. No apparent nerve damage; they had been able to repair the torn muscle and blood vessels. Could they repair her existence? – it pained her even more than the wounds and aching muscle and skin.

She felt as if a truck had hit her hard and compressed her into a concrete wall; she felt damaged.

Even if her body was healing, even if torn skin had been sewn together; she still felt damaged. She had been shot, her mind repeated in a never ending verse. Flynn had shot her – she could not think of him as Andy at the moment; it constricted her chest and made her dizzy. The sweet awkward man she had interviewed and thought was innocent had shot her. She did not want to think of him as the dark thing that had stood behind her, so close it had felt too vile. It would invoke enough nightmares in the future; she did not need to indulge in it in her waking state. Only her body remembered even if she tried to push it away; torrents of pain everytime she moved her injured shoulder, every time her left arm moved, she was reminded of it.

Reminded forcefully of the look in Flynn's eyes; it had been just as intense as the dark voice behind her. It had been so enlightening; standing in the darkness with a dark voice and all she saw was the vivid display of emotions on his face. It had never been that vivid before, that obvious.

She was in love.

It had hit her hard, the sudden revelation that she was in too deep. She had realized it in the mere seconds before her world had been consumed by darkness. Deep down, far away in an obscure part of her mind she had known all along. When she forced herself to be true and honest; she had known all along.

His eyes had always been fastened to her with an affectionate gaze, an intensity that had been there even before they had started fucking. Only he had been better at hiding it before; now it was apparent and clear in his eyes. She had allowed him to get too close – she had allowed herself to linger in his space; long before they had turned to fucking each other.

It had been something hidden within the friendly space they had shared; something they both knew was never meant to happen. It had happened; she had pretended it had not. But the look in his eyes in that moment just before he shot, just before the dark voice shot her; it was vividly obvious and it hurt more than the three bullets combined. It was agony.

She had trouble breathing when she thought about it. It made sense, somehow. Looking back it was just plain obvious and she had been in brightly-enforced denial, thinking fucking would separate everything else, would cure her somehow. Maybe, she thought darkly, she had known all along that starting their little secret thing would ruin everything between them. Maybe it had been the intention; she knew how to handle ruin after all.

It felt strange now though, her body and mind separated. Her mind contemplative and feeling almost light with vertigo. Her body dragged her down though, heavy and thick with physical remembrance of pain everytime she moved, every time she reflected on his look – reflected on her heart. She was not supposed to be in love with him.

Her eyes seemed blank when she looked in the mirror; like two estranged orbs that she had trouble familiarizing herself with. Her hair looked dull and colorless. Her skin seemed too pale, almost too white. This person in the mirror; it did not look like her. Her body felt painful and not like her own; dense and complicated to maneuver.

"_Sharon?_" Rusty's voice rang out hesitantly. He had been guarding her, staying with her in the hospital. Now at home having been released he was just as protective. He was constantly keeping an eye on her, his eyes cautious every time she winced or looked out of it. Every breath that was not timed in a perfect frequency and he rushed to her side afraid something was wrong. She wanted him to stop it, only she knew he needed somehow to make sure she was still there, breathing. So, she allowed his molly-coddling.

She understood him perfectly. Had the situation been reversed she would have been even worse. She knew that the bond between them was deep and yet so fragile; he had too much darkness in his past not to be influenced by it. She knew that even though he understood she loved him that he would always have that little dark fear that she would leave him somehow. It was not something you could get rid of in a day; it was something that left deep wounds in your being. She understood him only too well; so she let him be protective.

"_I'm fine,_" she said as she stepped out of the toilet, heaving up her sweater and concealing all the bandaged wounds.

Only Rusty was not asking about her state of mind. He was calling her name, wanting her attention. He was standing with his arms crossed, a rigid stance, glaring at the figure of Lieutenant Flynn standing in her living room looking out of sorts. She did not miss the atmosphere between the two; her boy was directing an intensely dark glare at her lieutenant who looked as if he deserved it.

This was a mess, she reflected. Rusty had liked Lieutenant Flynn; until the day she had brought her lieutenant home with her. Another dark insecurity from his past; all the male presence in his life had influenced everything in a very bad way, had influenced his mother too much. Rusty was afraid she would repeat the pattern, she knew.

Her lieutenant was looking at her, only his gaze was a strange mix between remorse and hesitance.

It was both horrifying and immensely soothing seeing him; it overwhelmed her. She had missed him, greatly, she realized. She had wondered where he was, why he had not been invading her space like Rusty, hovering over her, making sure she was alright. Why he had not visited her in the hospital? Everyone else had.

"_Andy,_" she acknowledged, trying to stop her voice from sounding too breathy, too shaky. She failed; she sounded like a nerve wreck.

He looked like a nerve wreck however, her mind told her. Unkempt hair that looked greasy, even more stubble on his chin than she was used to seeing, his skin almost gaunt and sick-looking. He looked awkward, his eyes uncomfortable as they fastened on her.

"_Hey Captain,_" his voice sounded hoarse, uncomfortable as well.

Maybe they were both out of sorts. It comforted her somewhat.

"_Rusty, will you give me a minute with Lieutenant Flynn,_" she asked the boy. "_Please,_" she ordered him when she caught his half-angry glance at Flynn.

The boy left, somewhat grudgingly, a glare over his shoulder at Flynn as he went to his room.

The door closed behind Rusty.

This was slightly awkward, she surmised. She was not sure what she wanted to say; if anything at all. She was not sure if she wanted to hurry into his arms and feel comforted in his embrace or if she wanted to simply disappear into the sensation of just knowing he was here now.

He seemed just as uncertain of himself.

She took a little step forwards; then rushed into him, her uninjured arm coming around his middle as she buried her nose into his shirt-covered shoulder. He felt warm; even more so when his own arms enveloped her. His grip was almost too much; too strong. It reeked of desperation and fear. She swallowed the inclination to sniffle; in would only result in full blown crying. Her body shook instead, trembled and felt cold. She wanted his grip even more intense; she needed him to reassure her that he had her; that he was holding her upright and safe.

"_I'm so sorry_," he mumbled into her hair. Not, 'how are you' – 'does it hurt'. Just an apology that sounded too remorseful. She felt conflicted; she was not used to him second-guessing himself or feeling contrite.

She looked up; his eyes were clouded by something she had trouble connecting with. He looked like a bleak version of himself. Subdued and vague.

"_Your bullets only grazed me,_" she explained to him, wondering if he knew the details, "_threw the other bullet off course._" She refrained from directly telling him that actually shooting her had saved her; it was implicit.

"_I know,_" he simply answered, his voice still tight.

Something was wrong. Something that felt even more wrong than before the shooting; it was tangible in the air now – palpable in his expression. It filled her with dread.

"_Maybe you would not have been shot at all had I not felt…_" he paused, "_I'm too biased when it comes to you. I cannot do my job, obviously._"

This did not feel particularly comforting; this felt like something going in the wrong direction.

She needed to correct the course; needed to make him understand there was nothing to feel guilty about; "_You shot the bastard before he killed me, Andy_._ I do not really see the obstacle_"

"_FID does_"

The words drenched her cold.

"_What?_"

"_It's an internal affairs thing now. Mr. Nolan's widow's suing the LAPD and our division; we have absolutely no evidence at all to tie him to the murders. They're saying Mr. Nolan was merely paranoid and that I went gun berserk,_" the words seemed almost well-rehearsed coming from his lips, detached and clinical.

"_There is nothing wrong with your conduct,_" she took a step out of his embrace, needing to look into his eyes.

"_There is everything wrong with my conduct. I'm too involved with you, don't you see? We could have talked to the bastard; we could have negotiated with the bastard. Sanchez was in the middle of talking him down; not shooting you! The bastard was not going to shoot you at all. It was not indicated for me to shoot, let alone twice_"

Why was he behaving so irrationally, this was so unlike him? It did not even sound like him; sprouting words that made no sense to her.

"_He shot me through the shoulder!_"

"_FID says it was the impact of my bullets that forced his hand to shake and accidentally pull the trigger. Ballistics confirms it._**"**

It felt like being slapped in her face.

"_What are you saying, exactly?_" she asked him as she stepped further away from him, afraid of his answer.

"_This is not working. We are not supposed to be involved._" his voice sounded determined.

There it was. The end; of everything. She could hardly breathe let alone think clearly.

"_I'm too emotionally invested in you. FID will find out about everything if we do not stop this right now._"

She felt inclined to say fuck FID, only it would sound wrong coming from her lips.

"_So, you shoot me and now you want us to just stop fucking?_" her voice was hard, cold now. She had to protect herself some way and if it meant going into ice queen mode then so be it. She wanted to hurt him back; figuratively slap his face like he had just slapped all the air from her lungs.

He looked hurt; it did not really feel the way she had imagined – not the least bit gratifying. His expression quickly changed however, became firm and hard again.

"_Let's stop pretending,_" he ground out between clenched teeth, "_we both knew this was gonna end someday – we both know this was never - _"

She interrupted him, "_What do you mean you are too emotionally invested?_" She had heard the words before but now she grasped unto them; they felt very misplaced in the whole slew of words about guilt and blame and ending things. They felt like something solid to hang onto; something to rescue her.

"_What_?" he looked caught off guard.

Did he really think she was that obtuse and oblivious that she would have no clue, really!

"_You said you were too emotionally invested in me_," she repeated and watched his eyes flicker around in nervousness before they settled on her again.

He kept quiet though, his mouth shut tight. She could see the strain in his jaw.

"_Why can't you say it like it is; the truth of it?_"

"_Why don't you enlighten me then,_" he sounded half mad now, his voice hard and his arms crossed.

"_This is a lot more complicated than sex, Andy,_" she told him, "_It was never about fucking_"

He looked speechless now.

Then his eyes narrowed; "_Don't confuse fucking with feelings, Sharon. I know exactly what this is – and it's reached its limit_."

The words struck her hard. Her forehead creased and her shoulder hurt again; her chest constricted. Dark pressure building inside her ribcage, forcing her heart to throb almost painfully.

"_I'm not the one confused!_" her voice sounded slightly panicky to her own ears. Not a sound she was enjoyed to encounter in her own voice. It made her sound weak, she reflected. But she was trying to hang unto just a tiny thread of sanity and he was not making it easy for her to stay calm.

He laughed derisively; "_Come now, you are so emotionally repressed I could splint a stone on you and you wouldn't break!_"

She took a further step back; it did not feel anything but hurtful. She felt nauseous now – a green sickly thing lodged in her throat. Why was he behaving so erratically?

"_So what if there are feelings involved; nothing will ever come of it. We are jeopardizing our lives – the whole division by this. It's too out of control,_" he continued in a tirade meant to push her away. He was half-way succeeding. If only he wasn't making her angry as well.

"_You don't seem to mind when you get laid,_" she snapped and watched as he flinched, enjoyed the horrified look that appeared in his eyes, she continued; "_Just because I'm not flinging my emotions around carelessly does not mean I don't feel anything – god, you are equally repressed._"

"_So what are you saying?"_ he asked voice now timid.

"_You never wondered why I even agreed to all this in the first place?_"

He shook his head.

"_I'm invested too_," she told him and took a step towards him again. She needed to feel some form of connection with him, all this space between them made her feel very small and frightened. She could not tell him the other words – the little revelation she had only recently discovered; it was trapped in her mind, cautious and fluttery. But he would understand, she hoped.

He looked half-relieved and she smiled into his shoulder when he enveloped her once again in his arms. She instantly felt queasiness leave her, seeping from her body as the warmth of his embrace enswathed her. It would be alright; he was just feeling panicky – feeling guilty about the whole ordeal. He did not mean any of it.

"_We still can't continue,"_ his voice broke through her newly acquired peace and she felt dread instantly wound itself tight around her heart, her lungs. She had thought it was safe to breathe again; this felt like a sneak attack.

She looked up and caught his decisive gaze.

"_It will only end in disaster. I do not want that._"

She did not understand him, at all. Why was he making it difficult for them? Creating obstacles out of thin air. How could he say one thing but really want another? It confused her – drew her into a very uncomfortable place.

"_It ends today_," he sounded determined. His eyes were almost hard in their brown depth as if he expected her to protest it too vehemently; he was ready to fight, she could tell.

She stepped away from him, feeling sick at just the sight of him now. All energy left her, leaving her feeling weak and ready to crumble down into the ground in a heap of limbs. "_Would you mind leaving now; I would like to be alone._"

She needed him far away; needed him out of her sight. She felt nauseous and on the verge of vomiting. She just needed him to disappear; leave her before she broke down and pleaded with him. She was not going to succumb to that level at all.

He looked even more hurt now but he stepped even further away from her. "_Okay_," he relented. It looked as if he wanted to say something else. She turned her face; looked at her walls and the pictures on it.

She heard her front door click and when she looked back again, he was gone.

Her body ached even more now, her shoulder throbbing painfully as she sank down unto her sofa. She dove under a blanket, wondered if she could hide under it forever.

Rusty came back; silently traipsing and coming into the living room again.

"_What did he do?_" his voice was soft.

"_Nothing; I'm just tired._"

He sat down on the sofa beside her; his eyes were soft but she saw the undertone of suspicion in the depths. He would be even more hostile towards Lieutenant Flynn now. Somehow she could not be bothered to correct him. At least someone was on her side; at least someone was conscious of her feelings.

At least he was mindful of not hurting her.

**-o-**


	16. Part 16

**Part XVI**

**-o-**

He felt horrible.

His whole body felt foreign to him, something that he had a hard time reconciling with. His skin felt ghastly, its pallor unnatural when he saw his own reflection. His eyes seemed like two estranged spheres, painful to look at. He felt old.

Old and half rotten inside. His heart was heavy; it felt like a dense black stone that really did not in any way help him with pumping his blood. It only seemed to pain him; a thing that hung inside his chest in a heavy painful position. Every breath he took seemed to pain him as well; restrained and labored with difficulty.

His body creaked when he moved, joints almost screaming at him in protest. He was developing a constant headache to accompany the ever-present nausea residing in him, heavy in his stomach and constricting in his throat.

All in all he felt encased in darkness. He did not complain though. The darkness felt almost soothing; he deserved it after all.

Catastrophe was averted, somehow. It filled him with both relief and a slight daze of wonder in the midst of the dark depression in his mind. He had half imagined a disastrous tumult of FID hunting him down and a wreck of a court assessment that would end with someone declaring him unfit for anything, really. He had half imagined everyone finding out about the affair – he had already begun thinking up strategy plans for when the vultures would attack for conduct unbecoming.

Only; everything was averted by a calm Captain Raydor who eloquently ploughed down every little obstacle. A calm captain who seemed ever immaculate in her tailored dresses despite the raw bruise on her cheek and the sling for her injured shoulder. It was beyond his comprehension how her presence simply put an end to what had seemed like the beginning of a nightmare. It puzzled him even if it was for his benefit.

FID was pacified easily once their former superior showed up, all smiles and familiar handshakes, looking more like a family reunion than the meeting of two different divisions within the LAPD. He had imagined they would somehow resent her and not revere her – he had imagined they would look upon her as an outsider now. Only they greeted her like a long-lost relative. Lieutenant Carlin looking like a sweet affectionate uncle once she came into view; he had been directing glares at Andy and the rest of the team before that, tightlipped and expressionless. Sergeant Elliot had been standing with arms crossed looking like a rigid mountain of doom; the moment she appeared the young detective broke into a wide smile, his eyes warm.

It seemed very strange.

Andy was not the only one who noticed; he watched Sanchez and Tao exchanging looks, their eyebrows arched. Sykes looked even more confused; she was young and perhaps even more intimidated by the gruesome rumors about internal affairs. Provenza glowered, his eyes narrowed as he watched the FID people and their own Captain interacting.

It was like watching a scene out of context, Andy mused - like standing outside something that was intimate and profound, only he and the rest of the team were not included in on the mystery.

He watched the interactions caught between feeling fascinated and possessive. She had barely spared him a glance or a word since that awful day he had visited her and told her it was over between them. When she finally came back to work it was as if she did not know him.

Her gaze seemed to see right through him whenever it accidentally landed on him; it pained him more than he had imagined it would. She talked to him; only the words were monotone and made him feel as if he was a lowly detective from traffic; it bothered him more than he wanted it too. She was behaving just as he wanted her to; only it pained him to no end.

She hugged Elliot with her good arm and he watched how the younger male seemed to almost break out into a giggle. Andy rolled his eyes at the scene. Neither Carlin nor Elliot had smiled at him when they had interviewed him after the shooting; nor when they had taken his statement again a few days after. Provenza had been in a shouting match with Carlin just a few hours earlier; and now everything was peaceful. It confused him, the quick transition from antagonistic to suddenly malleable at the mere present of just her.

She smiled pleasantly at them all and explained everything in a calm voice – and everything simply fell into order. He wondered why FID had never been this easily placated all the other times major crimes had had the pleasure of their internal investigations.

He was cleared; the lawsuit would most likely amount to nothing.

It seemed like a thing to celebrate; everyone else did. Only he felt depressed, not in the mood to celebrate anything. He had no idea why she had spoken so highly of him; why she had protected him with smiles in front of her old colleagues when she was obviously furious at him. Hell, he would not have minded if she had left him to stew in his own mess; left him to fend for himself in court. Provenza clapped him on the back, Sanchez too. Tao smiled in relief and Sykes looked half amazed, her eyes on the Captain.

Sharon even gave him a tightlipped smile in the crowd of the others. But he saw the tight strain around her eyes; saw the undertone of annoyance. It seemed calm and normal on the surface but he saw every little nuance of repressed anger in her body, in her eyes when they looked at him. It was just what he had wanted; only he wished they could somehow skip it all and go back to being somewhat friendly with each other.

He could not bear her ignoring him – he could not endure her being silently furious with him. It was slowly suffocating him; it grabbed him around his throat and made it hard to swallow let alone breathe normally. But there was nothing to be done about it, he reflected. It was better this way.

He had done the responsible thing, had been the one to act rationally he thought darkly, but she ignored him with a slight undertone of contempt now. It was not coated in tension and lust like the last time they had ignored each other; it was instead infused with indifference and suppressed anger.

He had only ended what should never have happened in the first place.

Did she not understand that he was only protecting her? That he was only looking out for her – that she deserved better? He simply put an end to it before it exploded in their faces and left them completely out where there was no salvation.

Clearly she did not understand; she only resented him now. He felt tired and drawn out; as if waiting in the dark for something to happen, something to pull him out of this stagnant sensation of nausea. He could not even muster the energy to pretend everything was dandy fine when he visited the therapist for his evaluation before he could be reinstated as fit for duty. It was merely a routine; he had done enough of them in the past with flying colors. It was only a matter of saying what the shrink wanted you to say; nothing harder than that.

Only now he was filled with darkness and despair and it seeped into the interview he knew. The impeccable dressed little man with square glasses was glancing at him and weighing him; and obviously drew the conclusion that they needed further interviews before he could be declared ready for field work. Apparently he was so encased in darkness he was only suited for paperwork. It was horrible.

He wondered how she had done her interview; whether she had been all pleasant smiles and calm tone just as she had been with FID. She looked composed – collected and calm. If the wound on her cheek had not been visible and her shoulder not still in a sling, he imagined no one would have been able to tell she had just been shot.

He hated her a little bit for that; for being so composed outward for the whole world while he was silently crumbling into the ground, having a hard time not letting it show. But then he reminded himself it was his fault after all; he had shot her, he had broken it off with her – really he was not entitled to animosity at all.

She however was allowed to the contempt she directed his way, to the blatant indifferent attitude towards him. It hurt like hell but he understood. How else was she supposed to behave? There was nothing solid to rely on; he had broken it all into pieces and there was nothing to grasp for survival. Whatever had been between them, whatever had once been sweet and friendly before anything had happened; it was gone. Fragmented into pieces that could not be put back together.

He went to more meetings than usual; only they really did not bring any relief to his life. It was a horrible mess. It felt like being forced into a dark hole and there was nothing to help him climb up and out of it. Ironically, he had dug the hole himself and plunged into it willingly. It seemed darkly amusing to him sometimes.

Maybe they could slowly build up an amicable professional relationship again, he hoped. Maybe sometime in the future it would not feel this heart-wrenching to merely look at her. Maybe it would someday stop hurting and she would genuinely smile at him again. Only, he despaired, that was a deranged fantasy in his mind. They had been on this collision course from the day he had smiled too widely at her and admired her bare legs. They had crashed and burned now; and getting up from the ashes would be next to impossible. It would mean communicating and finding common ground; that was not going to happen.

"_What's wrong with you!_" Provenza voice was hard; the question was rhetorical. An insulting comment rather than a question asked out of concern. There was no one in the squad room; Andy sat by his desk trying to read a file on the computer.

"_I'm an asshole_," he replied without looking up, his eyes still on the screen. He was going to ignore the old bastard, ignore him and try to remain calm. But he could already feel the small flares of wild fury coming to life within him, greeting him like an old familiar friend. Just the presence of his partner and Andy spun in anger that was hard to reign in.

"_Yes, you are genius! I tell you to get your shit together and you blow it!"_

"_This is me getting my shit together," _he snapped at Provenza, underlining each word with a sharp edge. He turned his head and glared at Provenza, trying to tell the old coot to leave him the hell alone.

Provenza narrowed his eyes, his hands angrily on his hips. He seemed too agitated, Andy reflected darkly. The old man had no reason to feel agitated; he was not entitled at all.

"_You mean to tell me this whole debacle of bitterness you've got going is your way of getting your shit together!_"

Andy sneered, feeling intense anger at the older man; "_You told me to do my job! I'm doing my job!_"

"_I did not tell you to deliberately break it off,_" Provenza paused, took a breath as if to calm himself, "_I told you to behave rationally and tell her; break you out of the goddamn misery._"

"_Oh I very clearly remember your words,_" Andy paused, then mimicked angrily, "_Do your job for Christ's sake; stop moping around and do your job!_"

Provenza looked incensed again, all calmness gone; "_I told you to lay low while FID was nosing around, you idiot – not to completely back off!_" His voice became low, his eyes looking around the empty room before he continued, "_I told you to get your act together and just tell her you love her! – and what do you do! Freak out! I did not tell you to make her goddamn miserable!_"

Andy stood up angrily, "_Just stay out of it,_" he ground out between his tight-locked jaw, a low growl.

Provenza looked angry as well; but stepped backwards his hands in the air half apologetically.

Andy immediately brushed past his partner, striding away in livid anger, his body tense. He needed some space before he retorted to destroying the friendship between him and Provenza as well.

He was angry at the old man even though he really had no rational reason to. He could not be angry at her; so he was angry at Provenza. Provenza who had pulled him aside after the whole mess of the shooting, after FID had blown through in their hurricane style and told him to get it together. Provenza who might have had good intentions and who was most likely only protecting him from getting into an ethics enquiry. It did not matter; all Andy saw was his partner keeping him from following her in the ambulance – all he saw was his partner telling him to do his job. He was too encased in darkness to see nuances.

Still Provenza had been right; there had not been a lot of options. It was either declaring he loved her or it was staying clear of her. He had chosen the option that left him feeling most horrible, naturally.

She deserved better; it all came down to that little insight. She did not deserve an illicit affair with a subordinate. It could never amount to anything after all; it was out of bounds and enveloped by too much darkness. They were in the same division – she was his superior. Love could not nourish in the dark; he had come to that conclusion the hard way a long time ago. If their relationship came into the open light of day; it would end as well. He had merely cut the strings before it exploded, he thought darkly.

It would have become stagnant eventually; so he ended it before it became too much. He hated himself, though, despite it all. It was obvious; she was suffering. She was suffering in silence and he had thought he was only one capable of noticing it; apparently Provenza had noticed as well. He felt rotten; like a tainted thing that sucked every little ounce of light and made it dark instead.

She was too calm; a sure sign something was wrong. Her smiles were forced; artificial and strained. It seemed directed his way; he was privileged to the terror and darkness inside her. It felt like an appropriate punishment.

She flinched everytime someone unexpectedly came into her space, a split second of wide panic in her eyes that was quickly doused by force. He noticed though; noticed the flimsy threads of barely composed control in her glance even if it was hard and indifferent when she looked at him.

How she had managed to stride through her evaluation therapy without ringing any alarming bells in the therapist was beyond his comprehension; could no one see she was on the brink of breaking down? Another reason he could not bear to be in any way antagonistic towards her; he had a feeling the slightest little puff of resistance would result in her crumbling. The reason he actually tried to behave towards her with nothing but friendly concern. The reason he quickly left her space whenever her eyes begged him to disappear from her sight.

It felt like a ticking bomb; it was really only a matter of time before she would explode he imagined. He threaded lightly, cushioning every obstacle in her way and tried to make himself sparse in her existence. It was the least he could do.

He felt horrible; nauseated. He wanted to comfort her – intensely. But that was out of bounds; it would not be right. He was not supposed to invade her space now, he knew. If he approached her it would only push her further away; further into panic. He was sure she would break down then. It amazed him that despite everything she kept herself together to the outside world; no one would have a clue as to what was going on inside her head.

He sighed; no matter what, he was going to protect her. Even if she did not want him anywhere near, even if she appeared calm. He could protect her from afar, somehow.

He walked into the break room, determined to drown his darkness in coffee.

It was a dark mess; only he was determined to keep her out of it, somehow.

**-o-**


	17. Part 17

**Part XVII**

**-o-**

She felt immersed in a dark lake of constant, vast fear – felt trapped in something that left her in the dark. It was irrational, she knew. There was really nothing to fear but it resided within her without permission or reason. It was a dark thing that held onto her heart with a rough grip, unrelenting. It was at once familiar and strange; she knew this feeling, had been in the grip of it once before. But it was something new this time. Last time she had been pregnant and trying to juggle a three-year old and an absent husband while doing her job – god it was a long time ago. It had been different back then. Now, she just felt exhausted and trapped in this emotion; partly she wanted to drown in the feeling.

She was jumpy and nervous. She masked it well she knew; buried it deep within herself. But she could not control her body, it seemed engrained in her. She flinched when someone suddenly appeared out of thin air, her heart in her throat and noise roaring in her ears; dread an acrid taste on her tongue. Logically she knew she was reacting to events that had overwhelmed her but admitting out loud that she was in shock was just not an option.

It amazed her that she had not broken down completely yet. It amazed her she was able to function normally and that no one seemed to have noticed. In some ways she hung unto the feeling; it was better to dwell on her impending nervous breakdown than it was to dwell on what had happened between her and Flynn – she could not think of him as Andy; it hurt too much.

It was easier to let her thoughts linger on fear than it was to contemplate the fact that they were no longer in a secretive relationship – better to calmly put away the heart wrenching sensation of feeling inadequate. She did not love him, really. That had been a foolish notion, borne out of her traumatic fragmented mind obviously. It was absurd; it had simply been sex. The reason she felt horrible and abandoned had nothing to do with love; it was highlighted by the shooting and pain, she told herself.

Still she felt sick everytime he came into her view, felt almost covered in dread when he spoke and his voice seemed to hang onto her with a sickening grip. His mere presence filled her with a horrible taste in her mouth – she tried to pretend nothing was wrong. Vehemently she tried to ignore him the best she could. She found it was easier to ignore him with a slight undercurrent of anger; it somehow kept her from breaking down and crying.

She had half expected he would respond back in kind; she was sorely mistaken. He was nothing but apologetic and kind – gentle in his behavior towards her, almost cautious. There was not an ounce of just the slightest anger in him, not even when she deliberately treated him unkindly. It confused her; he was not supposed to act so reasonable.

He was polite and respectful. She had expected him to be his usual sarcastic and grumpy self; but worse. Not this weak creature that seemed hell bent on making her comfortable in this new impasse in their professional relationship. It annoyed her. She was better equipped to deal with anger and antagonism; not sweetness.

Something else she noticed about him; something that confused her as well. He was angry; just not with her. He was angry at Provenza. She had no clue what was going on but the two old men were grumbling and snapping at each other constantly – baring teeth and narrowing eyes.

It was disrupting the way the team worked together; it was palpable in the air and out in the open for anyone to notice. It was annoying her. Really; if he could be polite towards her then why was he behaving like a mad man the moment Provenza opened his mouth or looked at him. She felt half-way jealous; was she not entitled to a little antagonism? If only he would act angry with her – maybe she would not feel this sick everytime he looked at her.

She could not pull him aside and ask what was wrong; that would not go well. She felt feverish just at the thought of actually talking with him. Her controlled existence was carefully crafted on not interacting with him at all; she really had no idea what would happen if they happened to be alone in a room – maybe she would retort to breaking down then. It felt very uncomfortable and whatever happened she knew it would be nothing good. His presence would push her off the ground and force her to crash. A little voice nagged, maybe she would crash into his arms and he would apologize and tell her he was wrong. But really, why would he act so friendly if he did not want to just get over the whole fucking affair?

She did not feel comfortable talking with Provenza about it either; he would only grumble and most likely tell her nothing of significance. He had been even friendlier than normal; almost sensitive to her everytime she hesitated. Another thing that bothered her; were they all walking around afraid she was made of glass and would shatter any moment now?

So she pulled Sanchez aside; he would tell her what was wrong if he knew. Sanchez was a calming force – he had a presence that at the moment did not make her feel devastated. He had been on his way to the break room with the others; Flynn had stormed off somewhere after exchanging what looked like livid words with Provenza – again.

"_What's going on between those two?_" her hands went into the pockets of her blazer and she sat down on the edge of her desk, watching Sanchez trying to pull his expression into one of serenity – he looked just a touch surprised.

"_Um,_" his voice sounded a bit uncomfortable. It just made it that much clearer that something was definitely going on between the two old men and that everyone was aware of it.

"_Between Lieutenants Provenza and Flynn?_" she specified.

He looked suddenly hesitant, very unlike him – he had always struck her as determined and never wavering in his countenance. She felt weirdly curious now.

"_I don't know ma'am_"

Polite, always so damn polite. Sometimes she missed people simply speaking their mind and saying things without this drapery of carefulness. People had never had a problem speaking their mind when she had been in FID – it had not been a problem until the shooting. Now everyone treated her like a porcelain doll; protective and afraid of pushing her. It annoyed her.

"_Oh – but they are behaving weirdly, aren't they?_"

She smiled at her detective; smiles always seemed to surprise people – caught them off guard when she directed them their way – made them want to smile back even if she was the wicked witch; it worked even better now she was no longer in FID.

"_A bit – it's nothing Captain,_" he answered with a relieved smile.

He most likely thought she would leave it at that.

"_Really; they are biting each other's heads off! It does not seem trivial, at all_"

"_It's nothing._"

She arched an eyebrow; why was he defending them? What was he hiding? It seemed so unlike Sanchez – he was usually on her side no matter what.

"_Their fights are upsetting everyone,_" she commented and tried to look at bit despondent at the thought. She deliberately sighed.

He sighed as well looking uncomfortable; yet he answered, "_Ma'am; they are arguing about you – I think._"

It was the last thing she had expected to come out of his mouth. It rendered her almost speechless – left her feeling very peculiar. It did not make sense to her.

"_Me?_" she squeaked. Maybe they were arguing about her imminent nervous breakdown? Only, that seemed a bit far-fetched. The only thing she could imagine them arguing about was something she did not want to examine at all; it was something that left her feeling even more dreadful. Provenza did not know about their affair – he did not know they had been fucking – it was absurd.

"_About the falling out between you and Flynn,_" the words were like something dark pulled from his mouth. He seemed hesitant even speaking them. They stuck to her skin – ghastly and cold; made her shiver with distraught thoughts.

"_Falling out?_" Her voice sounded panicky. Of course the other's had noticed, really it had been foolish to hope they would not notice anything was wrong. It had been another thing she had buried; pretended no one would notice their behavior. She felt faint – lightheaded with nausea. This was not happening – please not now.

Sanchez looked like he wished he was anywhere but in her office; his hands giving him away. But he surprised her; he gave her a soothing smile; genuine and calm. Maybe he was trying to reassure her – maybe he was trying to tell her not to freak out. Maybe he figured she looked like someone freaking out and he did not feel particularly ready for that. She was not ready for it either!

"_It's okay – I know about the whole thing,_" he simply said as if he had just told her it was raining. The sentence was vague; he could be privileged to a lot of things, she tried to reason with herself. It did not have to mean what she dreaded.

"_What do you mean?_" she tried to keep her tone even – keep it collected and in control. She felt nervous; felt backed into a corner as disaster invaded her space more and more.

She half wished she had never decided to have a talk with him in the first place. Why had he seemed like a safe option? She should just have left it alone!

His smile was shy, his hand nervously scratching his neck; "_I know about you and Flynn_"

There it was. One little sentence and it felt as if her world crashed.

"_Oh_" she felt nauseous and dizzy, her voice a weak tone. Was this the beginning of her breakdown? Would she faint in front of him – simply fall down and lie unmoving on the floor? Or would she end up unable to breathe, hyperventilate until everyone rushed to her office and observed her in confusion.

"_Captain,_" his voice caught her attention and she looked up. He looked at her with concern – his eyes almost questioning - beseeching. She felt as if all the air had left her, felt almost light and ready to float away; nothing to keep her infused with breath.

She briefly wondered why he seemed undeterred by the whole ordeal; unbaffled by knowing what had happened between her and Flynn.

Sanchez took a step forwards, his voice low, his hand hovering just before her shoulder, "_Please do not freak out. It's not a problem, okay?_"

"_I'm not freaking out, Detective_"

"_I know Ma'am_"

She exhaled, trying to compel herself to remain calm. It was not that bad; Sanchez had known and had done nothing about it. He was obviously still the same sweet detective; he obviously still thought the same of her. It calmed her down, somewhat.

"_So, they are arguing about me?_"

"_I think so Ma'am_"

They were silent, both of them unsure of what to say now.

"_Please don't worry – they will figure it out_," he started, his voice reassuring, "_We are a team – we've got each other's backs."_

"_Yes, - thank you Julio_"

She rose, found a random folder with files in it; she clutched it to her chest. She desperately needed something to bring her attention away from this mess.

Sanchez understood; he gave her nod and then quickly went out of her door. She could not bring herself to thank him for not filing a report against her; somehow that would make it even more obvious – would make this catastrophe even more palpable. Maybe she could thank him in a couple of days' time; she would be calm then and able to think coherently.

She did not feel calm now – she felt far from assured of anything. If Sanchez knew – how many of the others knew? What in hell were the two old lieutenants doing arguing about her – doing it so obvious the others knew! Oh shit. It was not a good thing.

What it meant; all of it; was simple. Provenza knew. She wondered whether Flynn had told him or if he had figured it out somehow. It still confused her; why were they fighting? Oh, it filled her with dread. Awful dread and awful annoyance.

This was worse than she had imagined.

**-o-**


	18. Part 18

**Part XVIII**

**-o-**

He watched horrified unable to move – the screens of the interview room drawing his eyes like a magnet. It was like watching something in slow motion – eyes wide watching the slow uncurling of a disastrous accident. There was nothing he could do but observe; it happened too fast for him to rush in and prevent it. He could do nothing but flinch in sync with her and feel the tight knot of dread inside him quench at the sight of her on the screen.

It felt like watching a nightmare unfold while being strapped to remain motionless by the grip of sleep. A night terror suffocating him.

It had only been a matter of time before this happened, he acknowledged. It did not make it any less dreadful. It had only been a question of when the rest of the team would notice her nervous behavior. Maybe they had noticed, he reflected. But the extent of trauma he was sure no one had noticed. He was not even sure himself; he only knew she was suffering. It was a cruel way for them to find out – a cruel way to expose her to everyone. It would be on tape; on record. His throat constricted; he wowed he would somehow make the recordings go away. He was sure the team would help in that endeavor.

The only problem; electronics was full of people. Full of witnesses. Taylor standing in the corner, wide eyed at the happenings on the screen. A visiting detective from the gang unit – it would be all over central before he could blink. Sykes and Tao looked almost sick with worry. Buzz looked uncertain and Sanchez looked anxious. DDA Michaels gaze flickering from the screen to the people inside the room, unsure as well.

They had been watching their Captain and Provenza interviewing a suspect in a triple kidnapping. It had been relatively uncomplicated. The man had cowed in his chair and seemed like something trying to crawl inside his own skin and disappear. The suspect had twitched in his seat in the interview room, his eyes flickering and not really landing on anything long enough for him to seem coherent.

None of them had really expected it – it felt like something coming out of thin air; suddenly. It hit him hard – like electricity shocking him into a state of petrifying terror. It surprised them all when they watched the screen and suddenly the suspect went from silently twitching to a full-blown rage, bringing with him his chair and slamming it into the wall.

Andy watched Provenza standing up, half reaching for his gun and half screaming for the suspect to calm down but his eyes were quickly drawn to her along with the rest of the people in electronics.

She had recoiled in a quick fashion, jumped up and had backed into the wall, eyes wide in vivid panic. He could tell she was terrorized; her breath perturbed and loud even through the microphone. He felt uncomfortable watching her break down like that; felt uncomfortable knowing the others watched it as well. She looked like a frightened animal backed into the wall, almost flattening herself against it for protection. Her hands trembled, he noticed.

"_Is she alright?_" Buzz asked nervously, his eyes flickering between the men and Sykes in electronics. No one answered. They all looked uncertain; she had never been scared easily. None of them had rarely seen her react without careful forethought and planned behavior bar the rare times she chose to curse about a little hindrance. With Chief Johnson it had always been the full spectrum of every emotion; it would have shocked them as well but not in the same way. Sharon was always so meticulous in her behavior; this was so different – so unlike her.

Provenza had noticed as well, his eyes flickering between the angry man banging the chair against the wall and his captain backed into the wall, fidgeting and breathing irregularly.

"_Shit,_" Andy mumbled, almost astonished this was happening. He knew she was fragile but he had always imagined it would be a quiet little break down; almost non perceivable, somewhere no one would notice.

They watched her trying to control her breathing only she failed; her inhalations out of tact.

He felt doused in cold freezing water, fixed to the spot by intense horror.

"_Excuse me_," her voice shook and her head was bowed. She bounded out of the door; gone from the screen before he could think about what had just happened.

Provenza looked confused, half caught between wanting to go after her and having to calm their suspect down.

It was quiet in electronics.

He felt sick with worry and quickly bounced out of the small room, knowing she would lock herself in the restroom – knowing she would most likely hyperventilate in the cubicle. He could not handle the image of her frightened, all by herself. It was not that uncommon for cops to break down once in a while; but it was different when it was her he reflected in his haste. Everything was different when it was her. He desperately needed to make sure she was alright; desperately needed to somehow comfort her.

He had not been able to protect her from this. It had been the one thing – the only goddamn thing he was supposed to do – and he had failed. Shit!

He strode quickly down the hallway and cautiously opened the door into the restroom.

"_Sharon?_" he enquired, his voice soft. He peeked inside and saw her standing motionless in front of the mirror. She did not even seem to notice him when he stepped up next to her, her eyes glued to her own reflection. Her perturbed breaths were loud.

"_Hey_" he prodded, his hand hovering just next to her shoulder. He was not sure how she would react if he touched her.

Her lips quivered but she continued to stare at herself, arms hanging limb down her sides.

"_It's alright now – okay – just breathe, nice and slow,_" he spoke his voice soft, nervously letting his hand envelop hers. She flinched but otherwise kept still, like a rag doll in a trance.

"_C'mon,_" he soothed her, tightening his hand around hers. He wanted to pull her into his arms and just bring her close but he was not sure how she would react to that either.

"_It's alright,_" he told her, stepping just a little closer, looking at her profile trying to discern what was going on inside her head.

She surged from him, fled into a stall, the door closing behind her with a loud bang followed by the unmistaken sound of retching.

He cringed.

She sniffled in between heaving up her stomach contents. He leaned against the tile wall, feeling just a bit less nauseated than her. The noise sounded painful, as if the contents were being forced up of her throat without her consent; pouring out of her violently.

When the sounds of gagging stopped they were only followed by sounds of further sniffling. Shit, this was not good. He was not sure he could handle it if she started crying; he would most likely end up trying to comfort her in his arms – he was sure that was the last thing she wanted.

He gently rapped his knuckles on the stall door.

"_Hey, you alright?_" the words came out of his mouth before he had time to think. Of course she was not alright. Stupid idiot, he chastised himself.

"_Yes,_" she sniffled, her tone vague and shaky.

She had not locked the toilet door but somehow he did not dare enter; somehow he had a feeling she would not want him entirely occupying her space. It would be easier talking to her through the solid door – he would not be covered in an intense need to envelope her in his arms. He could remain coherent then. He would give her space.

She was inhaling in a too fast rhythm; a very strange sound so unrelated to her. It slipped under his skin and itched; it sounded so vulnerable – not something he usually associated with her.

"_I feel like a weak stupid - _" she paused, mumbling the words. She heaved a breath trying to steady herself – he heard it just as clearly as if he had been in the cubicle with her. "_I feel like a wreck._"

It half amazed him she actually spoke to him; amazed him that she did not recoil from him and told him to leave her alone. He had half expected her to tell him to fuck off once she started to be aware of her surroundings – he had been planning on sending in Sanchez to talk to her; he seemed to have a calming effect on her and the camaraderie between them would help.

He felt like breaking down as well though; god damn it was a mess. Why could it not be simple?

"_You are not weak,_" he told her, "_just slightly unsettled. That bastard and the shooting did a number on you, okay. Nothing to feel bad about. It did a number on me too, you know that. I'm still not declared fit for field work._"

"_But_ you_ don't break down in front of the whole world! I panic everytime something startles me,_" she admitted in a small voice.

"_I know,_" he simply replied.

Shit, he wanted to stay with her like this forever; just the two of them. Forget the outside existed; just merely descend into the essence of her – join her and settle in next to her, extend his arms and enjoy being able to pull her into his arms. He wanted to comfort her with touch and not this distance from the other side.

"_It will be alright though,_" he told her, "_You just need to talk to someone, okay._"

She kept silent.

"_It will go away; before you know it – you just need to deal with it_," he continued speaking, needing to keep the silence at bay. It did not feel comfortable – it struck him as being vulnerable as well.

"_Deal with it_?" her voice had turned derisive.

"_He crept up on you and held you at gunpoint, Sharon; it's not an easy situation to come to terms with. It's perfectly natural you are unsettled and startle easily now._"

"_I've been at gunpoint before; it's never affected me like this._"

He wondered when a gun had been pointed at her before – he itched to know the circumstances behind that. He sometimes felt overwhelmed; he wanted to know everything about her. Not knowing left him feeling breathless and unstable.

"_I'm sorry I never visited you in the hospital_," he admitted, the words being drawn out of him like poison. Maybe she needed to know that he was immensely sorry; he had never really apologized to her – he had only ended things.

He heard her sigh but otherwise she kept silent. He heaved a breath himself; he felt nervous all of a sudden. Maybe he was not equipped to handle this – maybe he should have told Sanchez to go after her instead of seeking her out himself.

Words however kept pouring out of him, his mind apparently in an uproar – needing so expel some of the small secrets he had been carrying around, "_I should have dealt with things better, I know. But the shooting, it really messed with me._"

The therapist had told him he was harboring guilt about the whole thing – a dark intense guilt that really was irrational. The therapist had told him – after Andy had reluctantly told him about having ended a relationship – that he was thrown back into the past; the same guilt that had wrecked him when he had been a drunk and ruined his marriage back then. The therapist had told him a lot of things; he had never imagined he would listen.

"_The whole mess with you and me. It's,_" he stopped, "_I cannot handle all this pretending everything is dandy fine – I cannot stand for you to hate me; it's driving me crazy._"

There – it was out.

He heaved an inhalation. He had not really contemplated that an eventual talk between them and what had happened between them would take place in a restroom, the smell of vomit starting to permeate into the air and a toilet door separating them.

"_I like you,_" she whispered.

The words rendered him speechless. They were not anything special; they did not really speak of anything that related to great passion or love but her voice; it drenched him in a very peculiar warm sensation. Her voice was sweet despite the small tone, despite the frightened timbre. He felt like crying.

It was a mess; maybe even more of a mess now than when they had just been fucking and pretending to be clueless about it meaning anything else. There was so much to consider now, so many little nuances to consider and be mindful of.

"_I like you too," _he admitted. It was really not that much of a declaration; you could like a lot of people and a lot of things. What he felt was beyond mere 'liking' her. But saying out aloud that he liked her felt somewhat safe. The words left his lips with a great force behind them; he had to power them with something intense so say them at all.

"_I really do not want to _not_ like you,_" she continued.

"_You don't have to. We will figure something out, okay._"

"_Like what?_"

She seemed to have calmed down; her breathing was back to regular again. He wondered how she looked, whether she had been crying silently so it would not be heard by him.

"_I'm not sure – maybe we can try to go back to friends?_"

"_Friends?_" she sounded dubious.

"_Friends,_" he replied with a little more determination.

"_Okay," _she relented with a sigh.

He continued to stand outside the cubicle, reveling in the sound of her soft breaths coming out in a steady rhythm and wondering when she would come out.

He wanted to tell her that she made him feel insane, that the mere presence of her slipped under his skin and felt painful – tell her that his chest ached when she was not near and that he had felt only horrifying nausea since the day he had shot her. A nausea that had only intensified when he had broken things off. He wanted to tell her he only wanted the best for her.

He wanted to bring her home with him and lie naked next to her, envelope her in his arms and just delve into the sensation of feeling her chest fall and rise with her breathing – just feel her exist.

He needed to stay on course though – he needed to remember it was not meant to be. There was not supposed to be anything between them – not like that. If he wanted to protect her it would not help if they landed in an ethics enquiry – and really he was not the best; she was worthy of so much more.

Only, the warmth of her was enticing and luring his senses, tricking him.

"_I'm sorry,_" he found himself saying. "_about how I handled things after the shooting._"

She became still, holding her breath.

"_I felt very guilty,"_ he continued, the words somehow rushing out of him, "_I thought it would the only right thing to do – to end things._"

"_Okay,_" she just said, her voice feeling cold on his skin.

He could tell she did not understand. But he could not force himself to say more; maybe she really did not want to delve further into things. Maybe they could be friendly towards each other. Maybe they needed to step out of the mess and not entangle themselves further in it.

"_I will tell the other's you're okay,_" he told her.

"_Okay,_" it sounded like she was trying to steel herself, "_I'll come out in a bit._"

He was on his way out; only he needed her to understand it. He needed her to know to some extent what he felt.

"_I will always have your back, Sharon – no matter what, okay?_"

"_Yes Andy – thank you._"

He was sure she did not understand but he left anyway. Her voice was dismissive and back to its familiar timbre. She wanted him to leave, he knew. If he continued to talk he would end up ruining everything further; he would end up declaring what he really felt.

So he quickly left.

**-o-**

Thank you all for the lovely feedback; you are the best =)

I feel I should warn you; we are nearing the end of this story - only 3 chapters to go.

/Iso


	19. Part 19

**Part XIX**

**-o-**

Being friends was almost next to impossible she reflected. Why in god's name had he even suggested it? Why had he thought it would be possible? She did not particularly want to be friends with him, she thought in resignation. But she was forced to; she could not handle going around trying to hate him either.

Forced politeness seemed to work well for him; he seemed a natural. She felt stunted in her approach towards him however.

It had only been a month since the whole break-down in the interview room; he had finally been declared fit for field work and she had finally made a small progress in her nervous existence. It did not fill her with intense terror now when she was startled, only a small twinge of alarm that was easily quenched. Somehow merely talking about the event had loosened something up inside her; dissolved some of the dark terror. It still felt slightly awkward talking to the therapist about the shooting, knowing there was a lot she was not ready to share with anyone else – knowing there were some deep things she had to keep close to her heart and to herself.

She could even smile now, genuinely and without feeling like a robot.

Still she had a hard time actually smiling at him; it filled her with nausea. If she smiled would she end up flirting? Would she end up somehow smiling too much if she started smiling just a bit? She was sure being friendly did not involve flirting or a ridiculous wide lovesick smile.

Letting go of her fear had apparently rendered her capable of finally admitting what was wrong with her. She knew she was in denial; knew that the reason she felt this horrible was really not that complicated. She was in goddamn love with him; and however much she tried to bury it or pretend it was foolish it did not matter. It did not go away.

Her body thrummed at every word that left his mouth, it seemed to be enveloped in a rapid fire the moment his eyes caught on her; just the sight of him and she was reduced to this nauseating, ridiculous feeling. She was afraid she would blurt it out if she stayed too long in his presence; if she smiled too much at him.

It was eating her alive; keeping her in this spiral of never-ending sadness, trapped in the feeling of having been abandoned. It was absurd; but she felt anguished and wounded – how was she supposed to behave friendly towards him when all she wanted was either to push him far away or to pull him into her space. It was troubling. She did not want to do the middle ground; which being friendly towards each other was.

"_I'm getting dinner for us; whaddaya want?_" He stuck his head inside the doorway of her office; his eyes were dark and looked slightly tired; they had been working overtime for a week now trying to solve a violent string of robberies and resultant murders. It was a complex case and she had trouble concentrating – trouble sleeping as well. She looked up from the files in front of her; background bank account info on a multitude of people – it was tiresome work.

"_I'm driving to Thaliosis,_" he specified when she continued to look blankly at him.

She was not really hungry.

"_Surprise me,_" she heard herself saying. She could have slapped herself; was it really necessary for her now to police every word that came out of her mouth when he was near – apparently! Her voice sounded throaty to her; too throaty for his company.

He gave a wide smile; apparently he had taken her behavior as friendly. Why could he not see she found this whole new aspect of their interacting troubling?

"_Sure,_" he replied, just about to turn around.

"_Wait, Lieutenant,_" she spoke out.

"_Yeah?_" he lingered in the doorway.

"_Rusty's coming here later – buy him something as well?_"

"_Got it_"

And he was gone; took her heart with him.

Really, it was awkward. Their conversations left her feeling flustered and uncomfortable now. Even insignificant conversations about goddamn take out and she felt overwhelmed. Professional work-related conversations had her just as dazed. She felt conscious of every word that came out of her mouth, aware of how it might look to him if she did this or that. It felt stressful; not relaxing in the very least. She looked down at the files again and got caught up in numbers and dates. It was easier to exist if she tried to focus on something else – like solving this awful case.

Later the team gathered in the den – the smell of food wafting in the air. Her stomach grumbled and she smiled at everyone gathered; it was somehow easier to pretend everything was fine when it was the whole team gathered together as a group. He was just part of the group then; not Andy.

They were getting out their respective dishes when Rusty came slinking into view; he greeted her with a smile and sat down next to her, his schoolbag landing on the floor with a bang. She indicated the food for him and watched as he dug into it with gusto; he had had a late chess practice class.

"_Slow down kid,_" Provenza growled in his usual gruff voice, "_or you're gonna choke!_"

Rusty arched an eyebrow, "_I'm hungry!_"

"_You're always hungry,_" she belated with a grin, "_You would think I was not feeding you!_"

"_Ha-ha,_" Rusty mock-grumbled back at her, already onto another spoonful of rice and chicken.

She looked up and caught Flynn's eyes; they were on her – a peculiar look in the depths. She smiled hesitantly; they had after all agreed to be friendly – which meant when he smiled she was supposed to smile back. Even if she would rather ignore him altogether.

Rusty gave her a strange look though; having caught her small smile and where she had directed it. His eyes quickly latched onto Flynn with half-concealed contempt.

She quickly patted her boy's shoulder; caught his eyes and gave a small almost non-perceivable shake of her head. Rusty knew she wanted to him to behave politely; and not fly off the handle as he had done a few weeks before when he had encountered Lieutenant Flynn in the break room.

The incident had fortunately not been witnessed by anyone but herself – and Flynn of course. Still; she had taken her boy aside and told him to calm down; he had been vividly angry – tense. She had told him to stop being overprotective; she could deal with her lieutenant herself. She had told him there was no reason to be angry with Flynn. She was not sure she had gotten through; the boy was still glowering whenever his eyes landed on Flynn.

To make matters worse; Flynn was glowering right back. In the beginning he had been wary almost apologetic but now he was glowering back at Rusty with barely concealed annoyance. Oh, it was a mess. She knew Rusty only meant well; he knew Flynn had hurt her – knew she was hurting. She had tried telling him she was fine; but it was hard to be convincing. She had told him it was not healthy going around with anger in your heart; he had just told her it was not something new – told her he was used to it.

Really; it was somehow out of her hands. She could not get angry at him for merely wanting to protect her – even if he was going about it in the wrong way. He was doing wonderful in all other aspects of his life now; it was only when he saw Flynn he became tense.

"_You know,_" Rusty said, his voice sneakily innocent, "_It's my birthday soon._"

Provenza snorted; "_Really, kid – you've only mentioned it a million times._"

She caught Flynn's eyes again; she was not sure why he kept looking at her. She could feel his gaze; it unnerved her slightly.

"_You've forgotten the joys of birthdays, old man,_" Flynn retorted, his mouth around a fork of pasta.

"_Hey, you better watch it Flynn; or I will tell everyone how old you really are._"

Flynn rolled his eyes.

"_You are both old,_" Sanchez smirked.

They continued their banter, drawing Tao into the middle of it. She smiled; it was a relief that it felt almost normal again. The team worked well together again; Flynn and Provenza seemed to have buried the hatchet for the time being. The falling out, as Sanchez had called it, between her and Flynn would maybe resolve itself, somehow. She still had a hard time imagining they would ever fall into a relaxed amiable professional relationship but at least they managed to behave so it did not affect the rest of the team now.

She excused herself and went to the break room for a glass of water.

She was in the middle of drowning a glass when Flynn sauntered into the room and joined her. He looked tense all of a sudden, the friendly little smile he had been directing her way all evening gone.

"_You've gotta tell the kid to lay off!_"

Even his voice seemed to have changed. She set her glass down, resting both her hands on her hips as she regarded him.

"_Excuse me?_"

"_I'm getting tired of his crap; I've done nothing to him to deserve getting death stares everytime I look in your direction._"

Oh; so being friendly meant honesty.

It stuck her how different he seemed now; almost rigid with a tense countenance. This did not feel the slightest bit friendly. It was easier to enforce politeness and smiles when they were both in the crowd of their squad members but the moment they were alone together, it felt far from relaxed. He seemed tired, she reflected. Maybe that was the reason his words seemed harsh.

"_I have talked with him._"

"_Well obviously it did not sink in!_"

She narrowed her eyes. This was not the careful cautious persona he had been enveloping her with since the shooting; no this was something else. She could almost see tension shimmering around him, his stance half annoyed with crossed arms. Maybe he knew this topic would instantly drive them into defensive modes and he was pre-countering; already defensive. He had not been this direct with her for a long time. She promptly felt self-protective as well.

She smiled; only she knew it was a cold derisive smile – she knew it would annoy him. It was meant to tell him to back off.

"_He does not particularly like you at the present,_" she replied, her voice even. She had to remain calm, somehow. She was on a tipping scale; she had a suspicion a small push would drive her right over the edge – right into a whirl of trouble and anger. She wondered where all their small smiles had gone off to; whether they had only been a cover. She supposed they had been; an unstable asylum that did not afford them any reprieve. It had been denial, again.

"_You don't say!_"

Sarcastic Flynn was back; grumpy and caustic. She had almost missed this part of him; hesitant and considerate Flynn had been almost an irritant, she now realized. She wanted him to be direct and on the point with her; otherwise it felt condescending. His cautious apologetic attitude had annoyed her to no end; and she was just now realizing how much she had missed him.

"_It does not concern you,_" she forced the words out, tried to keep them in a somewhat even tone. Even if she felt like lashing out; she yearned to see him react with something other than consideration. She wanted to make him loose control; wanted to watch him enraged. However, she knew their situation was precarious; it would be better to act cautiously around each other. So she tried to keep her tone even.

"_It concerns me a great deal._"

Maybe it was his eyes; maybe the ridiculous stance he was in, arms crossed and tall frame looming – maybe the annoying way he had rolled up his shirt sleeves. She felt instantly thrown into a blaze. She was furious; she could feel the fierce tendrils of scorching fury wrap around her warmly; it felt almost comforting. It felt enticing this feeling; almost captivating to be able to be enveloped in a warm rush of fury. She had been nothing but cold since the shooting; anger had eluded her even if she had tried to make it emerge. This was blissfully warm – seeping into her body and lit her on fire. It was almost wonderful.

"_Not any longer,_" the words rushed out of her, sharp.

He looked taken aback at first, and then his features crumbled into anger as well. It was mesmerizing to watch; the display almost too vivid. She felt excited somehow; and had a small thought that this was not healthy. But oh god; she tingled at the prospect of an argument, of exchanging angry words with him. It was ridiculous, but oh – she wanted almost desperately to fluster him – to unsettle this pretend-polite thing he had forced on her. She did not want to be his friend; at all.

"_Great – so you're enforcing his behavior!_"

"_It could be worse._"

"_Tell him to lay off._"

"_Oh get over it._"

"_You mean ignore it – just like you ignore every-fucking-thing!_"

"_Yes, you are the master at pretend-play; it should not be a problem for you!_"

"_Oh that's rich coming from you!_"

"_Fuck off!_"

She was shaking; not sure whether it was from excitement or anger. He seemed just as troubled. He did not follow her advice though, did not in the slightest fuck off – instead he approached her, stepping further into her space. Oh, he had not been this close to her since he had visited her after the hospital, when he had told her it was off.

He was breathing heavily; she only noticed for her own breaths were shaky as well. Their angry inhalations seemed to rush in sync.

God, she wanted to kiss him. Kiss him hard and maybe tangle her hands in his hair painfully. Or maybe she wanted to slap him; sting his cheek with her fury. Or maybe she wanted him to kneel down and pull her dress up and her underwear down. His fingers in her, deep and rough – his mouth on her – hard.

Obviously being thrown into warm anger was messing with her carefully crafted control.

"_I don't want to be friendly with you,_" she ground out between her clenched teeth, stepping towards him as well. He was not going to intimidate her just because he was taller.

"_That's okay; you're rubbish at it anyway_," he drawled, his eyes narrowed. He stood right in front of her, so close it felt both wrong and sinfully delicious. She could smell his aftershave; feel his warmth – and his anger.

Her mouth curled into a sneer.

"_I hate you,_" she said in a low voice; a dangerous timbre.

"_Sure you do,_" he snapped, his eyes turning darker and darker.

Her hands landed on the sides of his face and brought him down to her lips; the kiss infused by a furious intent to poison him with her anger. His hands went around her neck, caressing almost absently while his own mouth was devouring her – forceful and just as intensely enraged.

It felt carnivorous; as if they were attempting to battle it out – eat each other. Devouring each other; intense and nerve-wrecking. It felt soul-crushing, she reflected darkly. It was consuming her – enveloping her into this dark feeling of exhilaration; a violent sensation of force.

His hands went around her waist; hard and rough – fingers digging into her back. Her fingers tangled viciously in his hair; their teeth clashed when he groaned at the pain; followed by furious lips that were intent on consuming her again.

It felt so right she was on the verge of crying – on the verge of undressing him and fucking him in this very moment.

Someone coughed loudly.

They abruptly broke apart.

They both turned around; and found Provenza glaring at them. He shook his head; "_I'm getting real tired of your shit; figure it out!_" he told them both, his voice hard, "_I'm mere seconds from trying to punch some sense into the both of you!_"

He left again before they could utter any defensive words; a narrowed look of disgust in his eyes.

She felt instantly nauseous, every little tidbit of anger fading; the silence overwhelming her in a trickle of embarrassment. She wanted to kiss him again; only she felt just as eager to be far away from him.

"_I'm sorry,_" Flynn said; the tone sounding like something pulled from his throat.

She just nodded; she did not dare look at him. "_Yes,_" she replied; she did not feel the slightest inclination to apologize to him.

She hurried away; before anything more could be spoken out loud. She quickly left before he could utter another word; she was not sure what she would do or say. She was unsure of what he would do as well. It was enswathed by too much uncertainty – and embarrassment; oh god.

They had kissed.

Not that it was anything special in contrast to everything else that had happened between them; but he had broken things off. He had kissed her back; even if it had been anger encouraging them.

Oh – she was confused.

**-o-**


	20. Part 20

**Part XX**

**-o-**

Shit, he loved her.

It was not a mere delusion or a trivial thing as he had forced himself to believe. He loved her so much it hurt. It hurt to be near her, it hurt not to be near her. It hurt not being able to tell her – imagining telling her hurt even more. Every little miniscule thing about her hurt. He felt anguished and damaged. It was something that had crept into the cells of his skin; invaded aggressively and unnoticeably until it was too late; until it was a widespread infection that occupied every tissue of his being. It lingered in his body; existed in him like a permanent fixture of biology.

Sitting next to her in the small space of a car was agony – it had him fidgeting with distress and on the verge of fleeing. Sitting in the front with her was cruel; she filled every crevice and nook in the car with her presence; he imagined he could feel the aura of her body warm against his shoulder.

The car smelled of stale coffee and the enclosed space of bodies after a long working day; a humid bitter flavor. Underneath it all her scent tingled his senses. Among the more tart and dominant scents he detected just a small hint of her. It was not a distinct scent but more a vague impression of something female; enticing in its almost inconspicuous fragrance. It made him want to drown in it.

He felt suffocated; almost claustrophobic.

"_Are you sure you wouldn't rather have Sanchez on this stakeout?_" he asked, genuinely trying to make her change her mind. He was not sure he was ready to share this little space with her; he was sure it would hurt less if he was not near her now. He was sure he would be able to breathe then; if they were not encased together in this little space. It felt very confining; very definite. Mostly, it felt vulnerable.

"_He's dead on his feet_," was the short reply he got. The tone brooking no further argument. Sanchez was down with the flu and had been on the previous stakeout detail. He knew that; but still he just wanted to get far away from her.

Enforced friendship was not really working for them, he mused. They had tried; but it had been too forced – too fragile. It worked almost perfectly in the company of others; which was wonderful in context of their work. But the moment they were left alone together it all came crashing down and it was difficult to exist in the same space. He genuinely wanted to co-exist with her; he wanted nothing more than to be able to feel relaxed in her company – but it was difficult when he wanted to touch her just as much; when all he yearned to do was invade her space. She was not faring any better; she became awkward the moment they were alone together – either she threw overenthusiastic brightness at him or it was with monotone indifference she approached him.

He half considered convincing everyone he was not ready for field work; just to somehow avoid being this close and near her. Only she would see right through that lie.

He had considered talking to the therapist again; maybe he would have a solution. But somehow he could not force himself to reveal everything to that little man. There was no one to talk to. Provenza refused to talk to him; the old man was furious with him – he did not really blame him; the incident in the break room had been beyond insanity. They had behaved despicably. Provenza had been right; they had to get their shit together.

He had briefly considered asking for a transfer; only he was sure Taylor would not relocate him without a really good excuse; he could not tell that prick he was in love with his superior. Most of all though; he could not leave her – if he transferred he would not be able to see her almost every day. It filled him with a despondent feeling just the thought of not working side by side with her.

He had contemplated drinking himself into oblivion; it was tempting somehow. The thought had been even more brief than the idea of transferring. It was merely a fleeting notion; however it left him feeling sick with himself.

The worst however; he had trouble sleeping.

He was severely sleep-deprived and had consumed too much caffeine in his endeavor to not fall asleep. He was sure she hated him; he would if the roles had been reversed. Why had it ever seemed like a reasonable idea to break everything off? Why had the shooting affected him to the point where he had panicked and fled? – why had the situation not catapulted him into her life more firmly instead? Logic seemed to elude him; he had no clue what was forcing him, pulling him along this path – but he felt like a stranger.

She had told him she hated him after all; if she had not kissed him afterwards it would not have confused him so. It would have been easier then. Only she had kissed him; pulled him into a kiss that had left him with a profound heaviness in his mind. The kiss had been nothing but anger incarnated. But a kiss nonetheless.

He glanced at her profile out of the corner of his eye; she looked uncomfortable. He felt uncomfortable. Being alone was dangerous, he knew. It was too perilous; he had no idea what would happen. He really needed to get out; away from her. Before he resorted to actions he could not be responsible for. Before it became a more complicated mess between them.

He sipped from his coffee mug; he had already consumed too much but it was something to do; something to keep him awake and hold his focus.

He felt awful; he just wanted to go home and drown in sleep. His body felt heavy; strung out across a distance that made him feel on the verge of splitting down the middle. He felt dense; something that filled his head with a dark heaviness; he had trouble concentrating. There was a dull ache behind his eye, behind his skull; the telltale sign of an imminent headache that was sure to make him agitated and irritated.

"_I've talked with Rusty – he will behave from now on,_" her voice was monotone – robotic.

The words surprised him; he would have been fine with silence. Silence was safe. He sighed; she chose now of all times to bring back that sore topic? Really! It was better to pretend that episode had never happened; better to not talk about it.

"_Fine,_" he grumbled. His brain was working on the last fuel and he had a hard time remembering why he was supposed to behave appropriately towards her; why he was not supposed to be antagonistic and caustic.

"_Why did you tell Provenza about us?_"

He turned his head and looked at her; she was still looking straight ahead, her eyes on the nice suburban house they were keeping a watch on, light on the lawn and inside the house; so far their suspect had not fled.

"_I didn't,_" he felt defensive and confused. This was unlike her; she had never directly been the one to probe into what was between them – what had been between them, he amended. Something was going on – something different.

"_But he knows._"

"_Guess he figured it out_," he mumbled; not ready to tell her that the old man had known for a long time now and that he knew it had not just been sex either.

"_Sanchez knows too,_" still that calm almost cold voice, delivering the words in a very steady rhythm. He briefly wondered if she was sick as well; fever would explain her weird behavior. It would explain why she chose to talk about this now of all times.

He continued to look at her; she did not look particularly feverish. Tired but not sick.

"_As long as Taylor doesn't; we're fine,_" he retorted.

She turned her head then, her eyes hard and narrowed.

"_You don't look too well,_" she delivered with an arched eyebrow; it felt half condescending.

"_You don't either,_" he drawled before he could shut his mouth.

Her eyes turned back to the house, her mouth shut tight.

He sipped more coffee; maybe it would stop him from being harsh. His eyes felt heavy; ready to shut tight and send him into a dreamless sleep.

"_You look tired?_" it was made out to sound like a question but it seemed more like a statement to him. He wondered if he looked just as ghastly as he felt.

This was most likely the longest conversation they had had in a long time, he reflected; and even if it felt uncomfortable and awkward there was something almost calming about it. He had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed simply talking with her.

"_Can't sleep,_" he answered, surprised he told her the truth.

She hummed and went silent again.

He turned his head again; felt compelled to watch her. There was something going on; he just had no clue what. But it seemed almost palpable in the air; something that spoke of possibilities, he realized. It seemed thick with something potent.

"_I never thanked you,_" she told the window shield.

"_For what?_" he asked, not really sure he wanted to hear her answer. Something was troubling her; it was bound to trouble him as well if she let it out.

"_For shooting the bastard,"_ the words were angry. Not at him but the situation, he guessed – furious at the bastard for putting her in the situation to begin with. The words surprised him; it was the last thing he had expected her to say.

"_Hard to thank me when I wasn't there at the hospital,"_ he gave her an out. This way the conversation could end and they could go back to silence and merely watching the house.

"_I think I would have forgiven you for that_"

"_Oh_"

They went silent again, both of them trying hard to look at anything but each other.

His skin prickled; this was something new. It felt opportune to him – there was something tangible here. A small opening and if he wanted to make amends it was possible; all he had to do was grasp the opportunity to do so. Why else would she suddenly open up this subject? He had started it the day she had been in the cubicle vomiting and he had been standing outside; maybe she had finally grasped what he had been trying to do then. Maybe this was her way of reaching out.

He inhaled deeply.

"_I think I made a mistake,_" the words tumbled from his mouth; he was sleep-deprived and her honesty went right through his skin and slipped into his bloodstream; it forced him to say aloud what he had vowed not to – but what needed to be said. Otherwise it would be like poison between them; infecting them until everything had been destroyed.

"_Oh_" she hummed; still she did not look in his direction.

"_That day; I made a mistake that day,_" he started then realized it was a vague confession – words poured out of him, his tired brain apparently intent on sprouting every little secret he had been carrying in him; "_That day after the hospital. I did not mean a word I said; I did not want to end it between us._"

She kept silent but he watched her closely seeing the small changes; she bit her bottom lip, her hands rearranged around her own coffee mug. She was fidgeting; even if she barely moved or kept silent.

Tiredness seemed to rush through him bringing a very strange clarity with it. He might as well pour his heart out; his actions had done absolutely nothing for him since the shooting. Fear and panic had never been very good incentives for behavior; he had forgotten – he had been in the dark and had found it hard to act with a clear head. Fatigue seemed to make it all clear; they were both suffering. They were both miserable. They needed a resolution; somehow.

Maybe true honesty would save them. Forcing friendship on each other out of nowhere was not the option; ignoring each other was even worse. He knew what he really wanted; he had just been in denial again and had had a hard time acknowledging it. He wanted her; simple as that.

"_I just thought it would be for the best,_" he continued when she did not respond, "_I thought I would be doing you a favor – It felt like the responsible thing to do. My brain was riddled with fear - _"

Her hands twitched.

"_I've never felt so terrified before; seeing that bastard holding a gun __on __you,_" words continued to stream out of him; otherwise the car would fill up with uncomfortable silence; she was not saying a single word – her eyes still rigidly on the goddamn house, "_It felt absolutely horrifyingl_"

It felt almost relieving; as if darkness seeped out from the pores in his skin the more he talked; sweating his despondent darkness out.

"_I retched afterwards_,_ only seeing all that blood on you. I felt ready to pass out. I know my bullets only grazed you, I know they threw the other bullet off course; but shit I felt guilty._" still no verbal response from her. But he watched her profile and saw her lashes twitching – teeth biting down more vehemently.

He knew her; she had not expected honesty from him – had not expected all these small confessions. It flustered her. He felt compelled to reach out and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"_I wanted to go with you in the ambulance – desperately._"

He saw her tongue wet her lips.

"_Why didn't you?_" her voice was small; seemed almost strange in the car among the silence after his confessions.

He felt exhausted; on the point of just closing his eyes and nodding off. She seemed vulnerable; sitting in the car, her eyes forcefully on everything else but him. He wondered if she would ever forgive him – wondered what she was thinking. He wished he could touch her, maybe pull her hand into his – maybe she would squeeze his hand and he would know then what was going through her mind.

"_It wouldn't have been right. We had to give statements, clear the mess._" he replied wearily; he felt as if every last bit of strength had left him – had been pulled out of him along with his honesty.

"_Okay,_" she replied; he was not sure whether she meant it was okay he had not followed her or okay she did not understand.

"_I just wanted you to know. It made a mess of me; the shooting,_" he continued, dangerous words lying in wait on his tongue, ready to spill his deepest secret soon. He was not sure how she would handle it though; what she would do if he told her he loved her. He knew her; it would be too much, too soon.

"_I know you need some time to digest it all; I just wanted you to know._"

He watched her nod; watched as her hands paled when they gripped harder around her coffee mug. It would have amused him had he not felt this nervous and sleepy.

He shut his mouth; finally.

He forced his eyes on the house as well; intent on not watching her anymore. She was not going to respond to him; he knew that. It was a lot to take in he reflected and most likely she needed some space to take it all in.

But it was out there; most of it. There was still the intense hurtful little thing inside his heart he had yet to tell her about; but somehow he had a hard time pulling it away from his heart. It was embedded within the muscle, a strong grip – he was not sure sharing it with her would do him any good.

He loved her; it rang clear in his mind – it fluttered in his heart and thrummed beneath his skin. But to actually speak it out aloud – to share it; that was frightful.

It was the reason he had been such a mess since that god awful shooting he had finally realized. It all made sense; his heart had been torn asunder at the thought of her hurt – and he had done everything in his power to make sure she remained unharmed. His panic-riddled mind had drawn the conclusion it was best not to be involved with her. It would better for the two of them he had thought back then, immense panic ruling his actions.

He was not ready to fall apart everytime something happened to her; he had thought it would be easier to distance himself from her emotionally. Had thought if they were not together, his heart would let go of the delusion of love.

But the emotion had only lingered; dwelled even more intensely into him – a more forceful invasion.

Denial once again he had finally realized.

Love made him unhinged and unable to act coherently. Love made him a stranger.

They both settled into the silence and watched the house; minutes ticked by.

"_I love you," _the words flew out of his mouth, surprised the both of them. They seemed to be pulled out of him; silence seemed to beckon them out of his mouth, out from his mind and his heart. He had merely wanted to exhale and instead it was something besides air that rushed out of him.

He had thought it would be hurtful to let them leave his body; but he only felt relief. A warm soothing trickle that slipped into his being and made him feel even drowsier.

He watched her fascinated; her head turned in his direction for a small moment – eyes wide and lips slightly apart. Her gaze quickly went back to the house but not before he noticed the faint blush on her cheeks, the almost non-perceivable little upturn of her lips – eyes alive with wonder.

She fidgeted even more noticeably now.

Had it been any other person, had it been any other time he would have been pulled into darkness at not getting a response; but it did not bother him now. It felt content; having poured everything out. He knew she would respond sometime; she would just need a little time – he had over rumpled her, in the middle of work. He did not mind giving her a little space to figure it all out.

He felt content, absurdly enough. Mostly, he felt tired – ready to fall asleep.

**-o-**


	21. Part 21

**Part XXI**

**-o-**

She felt lightheaded with a very peculiar vertigo; it was not infused with nausea or a sickening taint – it was encompassed by something that she had a hard time describing. It felt weightless; something that was imbued by a feeling of intense bliss – it coursed through her and settled into her mind in something that was sugary sweet with comprehension. Giddiness seemed too vague a word; content too flimsy.

She felt tethered. As if every little cell of her body had been anchored and her mind had settled into a calm lake, merely floating around in a tranquil state.

Everything seemed comprehensible.

Her body tingled – her skin felt flushed and warm. Her lungs expanded with ease and seemed for once to exist in a peaceful rhythm with her heart. She felt on the brink of smiling too widely.

"_I can't sleep either_," she greeted him when he opened his front door; two hours after dropping her off from the stakeout. He looked awful; a disconnected lanky body that hung in a faded t-shirt – eyes that seemed tired and drawn. Unkempt ruffled hair and the almost sleepy surprise she saw in his countenance the moment he realized it was her. She wondered if he had been able to sleep at all or whether it had been elusive.

She wanted to reach out and even his hair, cradle his chin and kiss him – softly and slowly. He looked like a lost boy who'd had trouble sleeping. The feeling settled under her skin and sprouted tendrils that almost felt painful just at the sight of him looking out of sorts – looking vulnerable.

Sleep had eluded her. She had tossed and turned when she had gotten back from their stakeout detail; her mind churning with everything he had said. She had felt restless only it had not per se been uncomfortable. She had felt twitchy and edgy – her body thrumming with something that felt ready to implode in the next second, her mind filled to the brim with a myriad of thoughts.

She knew the meaning and intent behind his words; there was really nothing to misconstrue there. It had just been difficult to react to them; she had felt frozen in the car. His words had drenched her with brightness; had thrown her into a lake of serenity. She had longed for those words she realized. She had waited and waited for him to tell her it had all been wrong; that he had never meant to break it off.

She had felt outside reality when he had finally done so. It had seeped into her too quickly, too rapidly; it had felt like overdosing on relief – which had rendered her unable to say anything. She had been unable to respond; her mind gone someplace where she could not retrieve it.

Whereas he had poured his soul into telling her everything, she had been incapable of responding back in kind; she had never been good with spontaneous outburst of emotions. But oh god, it had felt like liquid warmth enveloping her when he had simply and calmly told her he loved her; as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It had surprised her; she had not expected him to bare his heart – had not suspected he was on the same wavelength as her.

Love; it had not occurred to her that he might be in love – that he had shared the same heart wrenching emotion. Looking back she should have been able to predict it; it had been obvious on his face only she had assumed it was mere affection. She should have known; his brown eyes had always been very expressive and telling; the entire spectrum of his inner soul bared in the tiny specs of color. Maybe she had acknowledged it on some level but had been too afraid to contemplate it fully. He had been an invading force whereas she had been cautious. Her heart had always been hesitant and lagging behind in that department; it was easier to hide it away than to let it be fully visible; at least where the men in her life were concerned.

Had it been any other person she would have been covered in dread; guilt would have wrecked her knowing she had responded with nothing but unmoving silence. No one had ever given her space before; no one had ever understood the need within her to comprehend things said and done – forcing spontaneity on her had never been the resolution. But he had told her he understood – it amazed her; he had told her he understood she needed time to take it all in.

Two hours of lying restless in her bed however had spurned her into action; he was most likely thinking up strategies about how to avoid her now – thinking up ways to tangle them further into a mess. Even if he understood she needed space she imagined he was crawling on the walls with anxiety; she would if the roles had been reversed. She needed to see him; whether she would speak or respond to his confessions she had no idea. She merely needed to connect with him; feel herself align with him – feel immersed in the serenity that his words had brought; he would envelop her in warmth she was sure.

She smiled slightly at the thought of not feeling uncertain; being able to feel solid and sure – it was a wonderful reprieve.

"_I can't sleep at all,_" her lips formed the words desperately; she knew she looked disheveled. She had not bothered dressing; only thrown a trench coat over her pajamas. Her hair mostly likely looked like a messy arrangement of unkempt hay. It had felt too absurd to push a brush through it; it had felt too absurd dressing in anything else – it would take too much time, she had reasoned.

"_I miss you,_" were the next words out of her mouth – three small sincere words that bore a little undertone of sadness beneath, her voice somehow shaky. She wanted to smile at him; wanted to widely smile and tell him everything was okay now. Only; she felt her throat constrict with sadness. She had missed him; immensely. She had missed him so much it had eluded her; so intensely that she had buried it too far away – it hurt retrieving it.

He still looked surprised; hesitant as if he did not entirely believe his own eyes. As if he thought he was in the middle of strange dream – it comforted her somewhat. They were both a couple of stumbling emotional-repressed idiots, really – no wonder it exploded when they were together. It amused her slightly now; they had both been acting like strangers – acting instinctually and without communicating with each other. She imagined they would laugh about it sometime; now it was still too close – too intense to feel anything but overpowering.

She stepped forwards, inside his doorway – into him.

It felt like being able to breathe again; just the mere presence of him infused her with unperturbed breath and an instant calmness that percolated into her; deep and reassuring.

It felt familiar when his arms went around her; it felt absolutely wonderful – soaked her to the bone with a soothing profoundness. She buried herself in him, seeking a deeper connection – yearning to merge her body with his.

She sighed when she felt his arms tightening, his embrace close-fitting and almost painful.

He was so warm – sturdy and solid; his warm scent comforting as she dug her face into the crook of his shoulder.

"_I've missed you – so much_" his voice grumbled into her hair; the timbre rough but sweet to her. She could feel the breath of his voice in her hair, tickling her scalp – she could feel trembling hands attaching themselves to her, tracing down her spine; hands unsure whether to be reverent or forceful – settling in a soft caress of her clothed back instead.

She tightened her grip around his middle – dug her fingers into his t-shirt, tangled her fingers into the soft fabric, trying to reign him closer to her. She needed to simply submerge herself in him – needed to simply exist in the presence of him. It still felt as if there was too much space between them, too much air separating them.

"_I'm sorry,_" she spoke against his neck her voice nuzzling the skin; she wanted to linger in this moment, linger in his presence so warm and comforting it left her feeling blissfully sleepy. Linger in the wonderful feeling of him tightening his arms further around her, as if he was afraid she would disappear from right under his nose.

She sighed; a little hum of serenity, lips breathing against his warm skin.

The door closed behind them and they stepped further inside his hallway, entangled in each other – she had no intention of letting go, even if it meant moving awkwardly around in a heap of limbs.

"_I'm sorry,"_ he said and kissed her head where her hairline met her forehead, his lower lip tingling her skin and making her feel even more lightheaded.

She would not mind stopping time in this exact moment and just dwell in the essence of this, revel in the soul of a second where her body felt connected in a peculiar harmony.

She looked up, forced herself to let go of the need to press her face into his skin – and caught his brown gaze. His hands came around her throat, settled into the back of her head – a thumb caressing skin softly, almost absently.

He still looked tired she reflected but it was overthrown by the very vivid look of a crooked smile and warm eyes.

"_I'm sorry,_" she whispered to him again, her head moving forward and capturing his lips, halfway speaking the words into the kiss – tingling with the echo of her voice as their lips molded together.

It felt absurdly familiar kissing him again; as if they had never been apart at all and their lips had been attached to each other in so many moments that the existence of a time where they had not kissed felt bizarre.

They broke apart, breathing against each other – mingling perturbed breaths that seemed loud to her.

He shook his head, eyes once again warm as they locked onto her; "_Doesn't matter; it's inconsequential now._"

She nodded in agreement, mindful not to use her breath to speak; her lips once again on his – drawing him into another kiss. She wanted to steal his breath away; wanted him to steal hers – simply just be present in the essence of feeling nothing but his lips on hers, plundering and plying apart – caressing and tingling.

Her fingers went into his hair, smoothing the strands and messing them up again.

He broke the kiss, kissed her nose instead – slipped a hand into hers, enveloping her fingers in a tangled warmth.

Her shoes were discarded along with her trench coat; she followed the tug on her hand as he dragged them towards his bedroom. She smiled as she followed him, her eyes on the back of his grey mused up hair; she imagined she would have been able to merely linger in the hallway for a long time, encompassed by his presence. But he was right; the bedroom seemed more enticing – especially as she felt her tired body following his.

His bed looked disheveled she reflected – the sure signs that he had been tossing and turning; it looked as if someone had been hibernating in it for a week. She smiled; hers was no better. However, it looked beckoning; soft and somehow peaceful – ready to envelop her in sleep and warmth.

She crawled onto the bed and under the covers; curling around him when he settled in as well. Sex was the farthest thing from her mind, she only wanted to be near him – be able to hear him breathe – feel it in the reverberations of his chest.

She snuggled into his side, quickly draping a leg over his – slung her arm tight around his chest. She felt his arm around her, a hand on her back, sliding up and down – fingers light and soft.

She hummed, closed her eyes and reveled in being able to breathe him in, being able to feel him solidly against her body.

She felt him tangle a finger in her hair, twirling a strand around the digit.

"_I'm so tired I feel I could sleep for a week,_" he lamented, his voice was soft.

"_I wouldn't mind staying in bed with you for a week_" she sighed into his skin.

He chuckled.

She grinned into his t-shirt.

This felt slightly surreal; but in a wonderful way.

She wanted more however, the fabric of their sleeping clothes creating too much space between them. She tugged at his t-shirt; she needed the warmth of bare skin, "_This needs to go._"

He chuckled again; sat up and pulled the material off. She watched, her eyes following his motions – he stopped and looked down at her just before throwing the t-shirt away; he arched an eyebrow.

She smiled; sat up as well and started unbuttoned her own pajamas top, threw it somewhere on the floor – the pants following – the t-shirt she had on as well quickly gone.

They both settled back down on the bed; she draped herself across him when he lay down again; bare chest against bare chest – his skin feeling like a wonderful furnace of fire. He still had his boxers on and she was in her underwear; only it did not bother her. The feel of her naked leg against his, her thigh draped across his thigh was enough. The feel of her breasts pressed into the side of his chest, an arm around her keeping her close was enough.

She hummed into his skin, lips so close to the skin she felt almost compelled to trace it with her tongue. Her fingers danced along his ribcage, tracing patterns down the sides of his abdomen; lazily - soothingly. She wondered whether they would both fall asleep; simply too tired by everything to keep awake.

She closed her eyes again, god she was tired. She turned her head; let her ear rest on his chest – the thudding of his heart comforting among the rise and fall of his breath. A soothing rhythm that settled into her skin, went along her blood vessels and permeated into her own heart; she imagined their hearts might beat in synchronicity. It felt like a saturated feeling; overwhelming her drowsily.

"_You gonna stay?_" he mumbled, his voice a thing caught between sleepiness and amusement.

Underneath it though she caught the fragile nature of the question – she had never really thought about it before but she had never stayed the night. She had always hurried out of his bed, something forcing her to leave him before morning dawned; it was supposed to be like that when you merely fucked she had reasoned. He had understood; had always slinked from her apartment before morning as well.

She smiled; hummed affirmatively – then decided to voice it in a little breathy '_yes_'.

"_I'm glad,_" he half sighed, half yawned.

"_Just go to sleep – I'll be here in the morning,_" she told him, drawing circles on his skin, down his side, coming to rest on his hip. The feel of her fingertips against his skin too mesmerizing – almost hypnotizing to feel his skin beneath her touch – to be able to claim the tiny little cells with her touch.

He mumbled something.

She lay listening to his heart, a warm feeling of comfort.

She felt so content it hurt; so enveloped by the feeling she could not sleep even if she felt tired beyond reason. How could she go to sleep when she could submerge herself in the feeling of being attached to him like a second skin – when she could feel the reverberations of his slow breaths through his chest, settling into her ear and cheek – calming her in a soothing rhythm that was too enthralling to let go – too compelling.

"_I love you,_" she whispered into the darkness; the words somehow seeming to roll of her tongue easily and fluidly now that it was dark and he was asleep.

It felt like liquid relief overflowing her; the words leaving behind lightness in her heart. She felt like giggling – ridiculous really. She smiled into his skin, unable to keep her lips from turning upwards.

"_I know,_" he answered back in a croaky mumble.

She giggled in surprise.

"_I thought you were asleep_?"

"_You're tickling me._"

"_Oh_," she stopped drawing circles on his hip.

A moment of silence went by and she was not sure if he was asleep now or not.

"_I'm restless_," she confessed to him, her fingers once again dancing cross his skin.

"_I've noticed_," he retorted.

She let her fingers travel down from his hip, down to the bulge in his boxers – barely any pressure but she let a soft finger trace him. He twitched and she smiled into his skin, her teeth nipping at the skin under his nipple. Tiredness seemed suddenly like a very far away notion.

She was about to grasp him fully when suddenly his hands landed on her wrist, roughly and before she could contemplate what was happening he had her flipped over, above her and pressing her into his mattress.

Brown alert eyes looked directly into to her.

She smiled and leaned up and caught his lips, felt the pressure of his weight surround her – the force of his hands around both of her wrists keeping her restrained.

She moaned into the kiss – plying his lips apart and drawing him further and further away from sleep.

"_I want you,_" she whispered when they broke apart, "_I want to make love – no matter how tired we are._"

He nuzzled his lips along her chin, teeth catching her earlobe and pulling it into his mouth.

"_Yes sir,_" he growled and her skin tingled, felt on rapid fire at the vibration of those words, his tone eliciting nothing but a warm very exhilarating sensation.

She smiled and caught his answering smile.

It seemed like a wonderful mess, she reflected; something that would surely end up being encompassed by an unwavering foundation. Something that left her feeling happy.

A wonderful mess, indeed.

**-o-**

**Finito/the end **

- Thank you all so much for following and letting me know your thoughts on the story. I'm happy to have had the pleasure of you wonderful readers and the journey of publishing this.


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